


Various Storms & Saints

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy Versus XIII, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anarchy, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Graphic, M/M, Physical Abuse, Political Intrigue, Retelling, Sexual Content, Torture, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 09:35:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9541733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A retelling of Final Fantasy XV with heavy addendum from the abandoned Final Fantasy Versus XIII and theories, this story follows Noctis and his friends on his journey to not wed Luna, but to bring the war to Niflheim's door. Driven to be far darker than the source material, this tale seeks to give a dark, twisted tale based on reality.For nothing is good or bad, but thinking makes it so.





	1. Electric in Your Blood

**Warning(s):** T, none

* * *

 

**_Drip. Drip. Drip._ **

_Scrape. Scrape. Scrape._

  In caverns weathered by time, in a place forgotten by all but one, is a boy.

  The boy was completely and utterly alone.

  The room he is in is as high as a cathedral with a great dome in its center with mosaics of chipped heroes, valiant, whom charge into an endless race around the mosaic ring in pursuit of a demon, lost to the ravages of time and sits dejectedly among piles of rubble. The walls once held beautiful crystal sconces of unimaginable color are now dark with encroaching mold, their light stolen from them in ages past, like a speechless man. A rift in the ceiling is held steady by creeping roots with massive girths, streams of light filtering through to provide the only source of illumination. There is a massive wall of rounded stone, slate, and its base is an abyss that was once a contained well, the embankments of stone lost long ago and sits at the bottom of the shimmering, almost florescent abyss. The gluttonous roots have grown sporadic down the wall, creating a foothold on which the boy desperately clings to, like a feline to a tree.

  Motes of dust dance the beams of light that manage to seep through, around fluted columns that bloom like lilies into the stone ceiling, in the wide center, and in the path of the heroes of valor. The gnarly roots placidly hold the boy as he assiduously works, hair matted by sweat and brows creased in determination. He is perhaps in his tenth year, nearing the end of his boyhood, not yet ready to embrace the future.

  His hands clench a stone with the fervor of one driven mad, soft skin torn and bleeding; but he is unaware. His long hair gleams like strands of metallic thread, halo moving in time with his rocking movements. His eyes like a melting sky dart back and forth, studying this and righting that. Why is he working with such desperation?

 _This symbol is the key to your survival; remember it so that when the time comes, you will know. It shall protect you and lead you to greatness,_ an omniscient voice murmurs in that dream, that dream like a prophecy.

  In that dream, he saw so many disconcerting things; ruined buildings corrugated by steal, shards of glass littering the streets. A horizon of complete and utter ruination plagues this familiar place, a restive moon donning an ethereal light that sickens the survivors of the mass destruction. The city of stunning modern build would be lost to tragedy if it would not be stopped. But there is more to the dream; faces he's never seen, places he's never been, and a person familiar to him gazing at him with such unbridled ferocity.

  There is a woman as well, who is very precious to him, whom he knows now and she is poised to fight, sad reluctance holding her back. And yet that brandished gold rapier goads his falchion to action, engine affixed to it, and they stand off.

_No matter what, this cannot be avoided._

  Tears shining and streaming, the boy cries. It has yet to pass and already he is overwhelmed by emotion. He thinks of his friends, people so dear to him, and of that blonde girl, so precious to him. Must they be lost to an inevitable future?

  He shakes away those thoughts and continues working, white streaks causing a dissonance in the abysmal place, yet it is so familiar to him. This place is one filled with memories, of happiness and anguish, and yet he can see them as vividly as if it were happening now.

  People strangely garbled flow in and out of the walls, luminous specters of the past. A time reel continuously flows and the boy is overwhelmed.

 _This is but a taste of what you will come to possess,_ the voice soothes, trying to quell his fears with company.  _You will find the strength to resolve the future._

  Throwing down the worn, white stone, skittering into a dark place, the boy jumps from his perch. He furiously wipes his eyes, set with resolve, and gazes upon the symbol he has drawn.

  A gyro of a language unknown to him swirls around a faded, curled wing. Many other symbols can be seen, but even the boy is unsure of what he has just drawn. In the pale light it takes on a celestial, fluorescent blue glow, but natural light shouldn't be able to do that. He gulps, unsure of what he has just scrawled upon the ancient wall.

_Did I not tell you what it was?_

  The boy shakes his head, trembling. Dropping the stone, courage plummeting, the boy dashes from this grand room, down a narrow hall, charging deeper into the darkness more welcoming than an ominous future.

* * *

 

  Heaving breaths and a quickened pulse are what awaits the previously recumbent prince, eyes of dark sapphire doe-wide and affixed to the ceiling above his head. It’s the same dream he’d been experiencing for too many nights now, of a lost childhood spent in the haunting ruins that proliferated in Tenebrae. Craning his neck in profile, an analog clock displayed the time presently. _3 am_. Too early to be awake, but maybe too late to fall back asleep. Among the heavy, tousled quilt and scattered sheets tangled between his legs did his body know something of that morning’s futility to sleep.

 

  Even though gazing out the window would only yield a perpetual night. Because Insomnia was always dark.

 

  It felt pointless to force himself to continue sleeping. Night was eternal in Insomnia and the name suited him too well for him to continue to force it.

 

  Quickly did Noctis don simple jeans and a t-shirt, the most base items of apparel he could and hardly befitting his rank, but he hardly cared. There was no need for formality when it was only likely he’d be encountering glaives on their watches, among others of the waitstaff that worked around the clock in such a timelessly dark city. It’d be him, them, and the dark. Same as every other night.

 

  Slipping from the confines of his large, dark bedroom, a spacious corridor lined with majestically wide windows offered impressive, expansive views of the cityscape below. A pale, translucent reflection projected on the windows as he stopped and simply watched the endlessly trafficked streets, a pulse of life and light that fogged the very night sky. Save for the shimmering undulations of the crystal’s protective wall, of its sinister energy those of foreign countries often made due to avoid. At least, that’s what Gladio had told Noct on a number of occasions.

 

  Part of him had always wondered why his bedroom was situated so close to the crystal chamber. Guarded by a stoic watch of the Crownsguard, those manned at the entrance straightened and boldly asked for his identity. Noctis smirked a bit, knowing it was just standard protocol. Stupid, but necessary.

 

  “Relax, it’s just me, guys,” he replied affably, smirk settling into a hint of familiarity, cobalt eyes searching for some sign of recognition. When their salutes were rigidly performed, he resisted the honest urge to roll his eyes. Etro forbid he’d like to be treated like a goddamn human being every now and then, right?

 

  Passing through paneled doors that blended almost too perfectly with the cream marble the lined between colonnades of onyx, bright illumination was what greeted the crown prince first. Refracting light rebounded from walls of peerlessly smooth mirrors, a central column that contained the light twirled with an inexorable slowness, Noctis watching his own distorted reflection remain in place despite how it disappeared upon turns, seeming muddled.

 

  Something had compelled him to be here. Something these dreams were telling him, even though they were less dreams and more memories of a fragmented childhood. For Tenebrae had boasted dungeons of this sort, had them abounding in unexplored and mysterious segments of their kingdom. It had been twelve years since he’d been to there. Twelve years since… His mind blurred. As though a film reel lagging and skipping through something important. Noctis grimaced, a pale hand coming to cover an eye as if from relief from some scalding light. Raising his gaze, something was different.

 

  In shock did he see himself as but a young boy, wide-eyed and drenched in blood. Splattered on the blank canvas of such young skin, matted in a mop of cobalt-black hair, numbly did the reflection hauntingly raise his hand by the index finger, pointing accusingly and trembling brokenly. The prince could only stop and gape, Noctis attempting to feebly search for words, to shake his head free of the hallucination.

 

_Just what the hell is this, anyways?!_

 

  “Noct? What the bloody hell are you doing up so early?”

 

  Noctis wheeled to see Ignis gazing at him quizzically, face falling as he looked over his own hands, quaking before he realized there was no blood on them, no viscous heat or stains that were uncomfortably familiar for him. Sighing raggedly, he blankly shook his head, letting it remain hung as he didn’t want Ignis to see.

 

  “Nothing, just—needed to clear my head,” Noctis replied tersely, before raising it to the taller brunet. “What about you? Thought you’d turned in already.”

 

  Ignis smiled wryly, then turning to gaze upon the mirrored encasement of the crystal still in its languid revolutions. “I have my reasons for rising earlier than usual, Noct. Were you not made aware?”

 

  “No. Mind telling me now what we’re here?” Noctis prompted, feeling a cloud of foreboding brood over them. The reflection from before still haunted him, as moments before it had felt almost terrifyingly vivid.

 

  The older male studied Noct for a moment, suspicious of him. The abject shock he’d seen portrayed in the mirrored case of the crystal moments before hadn’t been some odd occurrence. Nevertheless, it paled in comparison of what was to come. Straightening his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Ignis continued, “It seems within the coming few days, King Regis and his court will be due for an audience with Niflheim’s emperor and those of his own people. Hardly rote politics.”

 

  Noctis chuffed sarcastically, folding his arms. “Yeah, like hell they’ll be here for anything good. Probably want to try and make some big land grab,” the prince shot back dourly, then pocketing his hands. “...Think my old man might actually remember my birthday this year?”

 

  That came with the late August month, didn’t it? Noctis had never quite the interest for politics, even if it was imperative as his father’s successor. Ignis pursed his lips, looking at Noct quizzically. “His Majesty has rather urgent things upon his mind, Noct. And you must as well.”

 

  “Forget I said anything. It’s stupid anyways, right?” Noctis flared, lips twisting upwards in a grimace. Even without saying a word, the royal adviser understood. With the crystal taxing Regis of his life’s very duration, any day could be the one that the king lost it. Even if the prince was far too stubborn to openly admit as much, Ignis had known him for far too long to refute the reality of this.

 

  “That’s rubbish, Noct, and you know it.” It’s said quietly, fiercely, but Noctis’ defenses and tense shoulders seemed to fall, the prince shrugging. “Perhaps we ought to leave. This isn’t the time or place for such conversation.”

 

  “Yeah,” Noctis rejoined vacantly, glancing furtively at the crystal again, narrowing his eyes in a near show of reluctance. It were as if it were sentient and trying to show him something, delivering those prophecies and memories through his dreams. Glancing at the hand he’d remembered holding the stone, it closed in a fist as he shook off the long moment and finally caught back up to Ignis who was gazing at him suspiciously.

 

  Noctis simply shook his head, breaking off any attempts Ignis might have at wheedling him. They had more ‘important’ things to talk about, didn’t they?

 

* * *

 

  “Wait, so you really mean it, Iggy? They’re coming _here_?”

 

  Prompto seemed to almost fall from his chair as crossed legs and folded arms scrambled to unfurl, needing to fully support himself upon hearing hearing Ignis’ news dispensed to not only himself, but the prince and other member of his Crownsguard, Gladio. They were seated within what appeared to be a contemporary conference room, at a round table with over a dozen seats that overlooked the night fallen city almost commandingly. A place where Regis and his court often busied themselves with more of the businesslike affairs. Guess it was a good place than any, Noctis surmised.

 

  “I don’t like it. Nifs never mean any good,” Gladio groused, leaning back enough in his swivel seat to elicit creaking, brows furrowed and looking grim for the better part of the word. “When are they supposed to be arriving, anyways?” His muscular arms folded tightly over the barrel, muscular expanse of his chest.

 

  “Two, three days at the most. I imagine His Majesty will wish for us to prepare,” Ignis explained, glancing over at Noctis. As far as anyone was concerned, their chances appeared grim. Niflheim rarely came on good intentions, and they had every reason to suspect. Least of all, Noctis what knew it would mean his father becoming involved, and worse. “Noct, has the King made mention of any of this to you?”

 

  Noct gazed at Ignis hard, setting his jaw. Instinct behooved to reply sarcastically, what with Ignis having told him only moments ago, but the want to evaporated the minute he opened his mouth to speak: “…No. Didn’t mention anything.”

 

  “So, wait—this is, like, totally unprepared then? Noct, what if it’s a trap?” Prompto rejoined anxiously, leaning over the table, it catching his anxious reflection darkly—mirroring how they all seemed to likely feel.

 

  “Probably is. Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” the prince agreed with a quiet accession, gaze crossing over to the cityscape. Reports of Niflheim’s recent engagements had come from members themselves, Noctis gratefully close with more of them than he let on. It was through him he learned the most of the reality of Lucis, knowing his father had been keeping him under a protective veil for far too long. Whatever would come of these peace talks, Noctis knew better than to think it’d be hopeful. Only the overly optimistic would relegate themselves to as much, and it was a foolish thing on all their behalf to do.

 

  “Sitting around here like sitting ducks sure as hell isn’t gonna accomplish much, either. Noct, you’d be ready in case something happens, right?” Gladio nodded towards the younger, Noctis’ eyes still fixated upon the window as though entranced by the view. They all knew better.

 

  Reflected darkly on the window’s surface, his countenance seemed to still until two, spectral crimson orbs flared from where his face was hung with shadow. They seemed to illuminate with unholy light, but among their number, it was more reassurance. The blood of his ancestors and the blessing of the crystal afforded him such power—access to the Armiger weapons, as all Lucian monarchs had. For they would be necessary, now more than ever.

 

  Whatever means, it was clear that the empire of Niflheim was prepared to spring their trap. The band of brothers was ready, as they had to be. As every aware Lucian who knew the incumbent risks would. Statuesque as Noctis seemed to hold himself, his friends knew better.

 

  “Come then—let us prepare. Time is of the essence. Noct?”

 

  At Ignis’ beckon, Noct seemed to spring from his seat with feline grace, following in suit of his advisor.

 

  They had an empire to square off to.


	2. A Vale of Mourning

( **Warning(s):** T, none]

* * *

 

 ****The days that came to pass did not do so in complacency, as if some witless silence as it might’ve been otherwise. The halls of the Citadel became all the more tense with the passing of the hours, all present spending it arranging lasting affairs should the city fall tomorrow. Though most would underplay it as a bout of paranoia, a rampant pall that had proliferated haphazardly among Lucian citizens, they were all right to be afraid. From every echelon were safe zones and bomb shelters filled with supplies and the most vulnerable, something privately arranged by the crown prince’s right hand man.

 

Before a body length mirror, Noctis slouched in the starched, sable suit he was expected to wear. Hair the only negotiated part that could be left alone, the prince otherwise looked as stiff as he felt. As though the slightest bend in motion or movement beyond some restricted radius would see tears erupting across every angular plane of the heinously expensive outfit. Warily, Noctis was reminded of his father when he young, of how he looked the same in all for the youthful countenance and slightly hooded eyes that contrasted to his father’s own stark, deeply set face and wider eyes. Well, that and hairstyle. But, that was supposed to change as he got older, right? As if.

 

A knock interrupted his thoughts, Noctis’ tie still loosed and inexperienced in its knotting before he gave up and went to answer it. Outside the contemporary confines of his apartments, Noctis was surprised to see Regis standing there in full, kingly regalia, slightly hobbled from his weak leg and the cane he depended upon. “Might I be so bold as to see the crown prince before he departs?” Regis inquired with an audible simper.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for the gala?” Noct rejoined without softening his words, looking dubious at seeing his father not even ready to depart for Via Caelum where the gala was to be hosted. “Kinda rude if the Nifs are there already.” The last was added with an obvious note of sarcasm.

 

“Twenty years it’s been, Noctis. Twenty years since your mother bore you and I held you in my arms,” the man uttered in a subdued timbre, Noctis numbly remembering what day it was. “Not a day passes I don’t miss Aulea, but I see more and more of her in you with each passing year. This one, I think, is no exception.”

 

Noctis grew reverently quiet, a dull ache throbbing in his chest. His mother had died too young for him to remember what she looked like, but vestigial memories still remained. Those of warmth and sweetly sung melodies were the strongest, alongside faint traces of jasmine. His cerulean gaze was jarred when Regis placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, the younger of the two Lucii ebbing into the affection, just wanting to remember it. Remember his father in the way he couldn’t his mother. Even if the crystal was rapidly draining him of his vitality, Regis was still his father. It’d hurt too much to lose him, he knew. “Yeah. Long time to go without,” he murmured obliquely, lowly.

 

Regis smiled tightly as he removed his hands, clearing his throat. Noctis hadn’t noticed the velvet case that had been placed on his bed, likely for safekeeping as they briefly conversed. How he hadn’t noticed it before, he couldn’t say. “Open it, Noctis. I think it’s time you had it,” Regis encouraged, gaze seeming to soften upon his son.

 

Gingerly did Noctis run his hand over the material that seemed to be more suede leather than velvet, the long, broad case thick and appearing cumbersome. Unbuckling the clasps at either end, with a slight creaking of hinges did it open, the prince clearly taken aback. For he knew what this was, what it meant. What it was tantamount to.

 

“All who came before us were given a sword to represent our rule. Even if our names are forgotten, these will be what outlasts us as Lucian kings, our legacies and our triumphs,” Regis expounded with his voice entering Noctis’ periphery, the prince admittedly speechless as he grasped for words. The sword itself was an elegantly fashioned falchion, an engine apparatus affixed to the hilt where the gravity of its weight seemed to be centered--like in his childhood dreams, he remembered with foreboding. Without even touching it did the hum of the Armiger’s blade thrum to life, Lucian blood responding to crystal-imbued magic. When Noctis dared to touch its surface, it thrummed and hovered, shifting to a glassy, translucent silhouette of a cobalt sheen, then alighting sentient within the air.

 

Ramrod straight did the blade revolve around him, suspended in air. Regis watched with a strange sense of detachment, Noctis confused as to why his jaw seemed to set and his eyes avert. His first Armiger weapon, and on his birthday, no less. Wasn’t this supposed to be celebratory?

 

As the weapon dematerialized and room darkened from its absence, immediately was Noctis drawn into a fierce embrace by his father. As if he were a boy again escaping Tenebrae’s invasion. It had been years since such desperation laced between them, a fatherly urgency that yearned for his son not to be without his father’s love unnumbered. And, Noctis returned it. He wasn’t dense enough to think it wasn’t because a sense of foreboding they and the entire city felt, and that this could be as good as good-bye.

 

Slowly did the two men withdraw from the embrace, absently straightening and soothing their suits from the slight rumple. “I know it officially isn’t, but I’d like tonight to be more in celebration of your birthday, Noctis. I want to us to celebrate it, not worry so much of what’s ahead. Might we do that?” his father implored with a wan smile, Noctis feeling a treble of emotion lodge its way into his throat.

 

“Yeah. Screw the Nifs, right? They can hog the spotlight some other damn time.”

 

* * *

 

“So, uh—Ravus. How’s Luna been, anyways?”

 

A young Oracle, busied by her work, seldom saw the youthful childhood her siblings and friend had.

 

“Alright,” the older boy supplied enigmatically, then grinning and leaving no broker for further inquiry as he seized Noctis in a headlock.

 

"Ravus!" Stella shouted indignantly, stamping her feet and crossing her arms. "Leave Noct alone!"

 

It was the springtime of youth, in the fields of Sylleblossom and rolling pastures of green encompassed by thick and high forests, did the vernal atmosphere of Tenebrae bloom youthfully in the trio’s hearts. Among the many copses of trees and ruins that flourished around them, it was at a riverbed that they found themselves,by  a nearby wall cascading waterfalls that beautifully caught the sunlight, flooding a low plane on which the children played at the shoreline; Noctis, as well as Stella and Ravus Nox Fleuret.

"Sorry Stella, it's just that Noct—" Ravus choked out between bouts of laughter, "—he's really hilarious like this!" Within the cuckold, Noctis slapped at Ravus’ arms in vain.

Stella scowled, hand reaching to grab a tendril of pale hair and yank it earth wards. Ravus yelped loudly, eyes locked with Stella's fierce ones.

"I'm sick of you bullying and teasing Noct! Go say you're sorry," she ordered, still clenching his white locks.

Awkwardly bent over, Ravus's heterochromatic ones were locked with Noctis's. "Stella, it's what friends do. We always—" a _yank_ , "—Okay! I'm sorry, Noct! You happy now?" his last words directed at Stella. She tossed him away, unsteadying Ravus, and smiled smugly.

Prancing over to Noct, she grabbed his hand. "Let's get away from him and this place," she whispered, glancing towards the forest.

"What are you doing?" _Rav_ _us._

"Now!"

Before Noct could even blink, Stella was off him a shot, towing Noct at breakneck speeds. They tore through the gardens and out to the border and into the darkening woods. Noctis could hear Ravus shouting after them to stop, but for once he was glad to be alone with Stella.

They ran quite a ways until the castle receded and faded completely from view.

"Ah, alone at last." Stella ambled around a tree with great roots, humming delightfully to herself.

Noct looked around nervously. The trees here were thick enough for several people to hug, hands touching. Long and wide branches thickened and split like a river delta into a multitude of an infinite amount of smaller branches, leaves overly abundant and nearly blocking out the sun entirely. The canopy was thick with a ceiling of leaves that let in only fragments of sunlight, the rest of the ground cloaked in shadow. Massive roots spurt from the ground, interrupting the surface like coiling snakes, providing for unsteady walking ground. Noctis carefully picked his way around brambles and jutting ground, picking his way to Stella.

A deafening crunch suddenly filled the forest.

Stella clung to Noct who put a hand to her back.

"I think we should leave, Stella." Her head nodded furiously in agreement.

A collapsing of weak roots heaved inwards, creating an abyss to an unknown destination. Noctis's arms flew around Stella and hers around him.

Both screamed with terrific might in the quiet forest as the ground gave away and they were swallowed by the black abyss.

* * *

 

“Hey, you awake? We’re almost there, Highness.”

 

Noctis’ eyes blearily opened to the usual, perpetual nightscape of Insomnia. From a distance, silhouettes darker than the nocturnal horizon were suspended in midair, with spectral red orbs lit at intervals on what the prince could only suspect were imperial airships that belonged to Niflheim. His eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, mouth grimacing resentfully at the very sight of it. “Guess they’re starting the invasion early,” he groused, gaze fixated in the rear view mirror, matching gazes with the glaive who commanded the steering wheel.

 

“You’d think they could’ve at least brought us a housewarming gift,” Nyx Ulricsaid with a wry smirk, absently waited as the station guard at the gate twirled his fluorescent baton as a gesture for them to proceed and be identified. The engine revved as it was brought to a slow halt, Nyx methodically pressing an ID card to the window glass to be scanned. “You hear about the big retreat that got my ass demoted? Well, you’re not alone, Your Highness. Me and a few other glaives think these peace talks are full of shit, too.”

 

Noctis perked to the sound of what confirmed his own thoughts, mouth slightly slackening that was a silent invitation for Nyx to continue. “Maybe it’s no accident you’re on guard duty at the gala,” Noct quipped with a shrug, pressing his temple to the cool glass as he gazed outside at the passing cityscape.

 

“Eh, it’s not so bad. I get to guard the fairy tale princess, so that’s worth something.” This caused Noctis to grin impishly, sitting up as if raring to rear some witty retort. Nyx flashed a crooked grin, eyes moving elsewhere as the car banked around a rather sharp turn. “Don’t get so excited, Highness. I was talking about the Tenebraen princess—you know, Princess Stella?”

 

Noctis inclined further, a hand gripping the shoulder of the glaive’s seat, brows working together. He was going to see Stella again after all these years? Why now? But if Stella was here, that meant Ravus had to be, too.

 

The memory he’d awoken from suddenly soured like curdling milk, the brief alarm flattening into a troubled expression as Noctis seemed to slump with a sense of premature defeat. Memories that were blocked surged tempestuously, remembering the vision when he’d been in the crystal chamber. Him, still a young boy, coated in blood. Blood that wasn’t his. Noctis grunted as a sharp, needling pain rocketed inside his skull and planted barbs and thorns. With each pulsation it seemed to exonerate the sensation, embed deeper and sinking slower. It felt visceral, alive. Poison and pain that was too much for one person.

 

“Hey, prince! You alright back there?” Nyx demanded once they’d parked in a space in the garage beneath the Via Caelum, the car chiming as one of its doors remained open, Nyx paused from getting out with the prince in his wake.

 

Noctis gasped silently, then inhaling tense breaths as it gradually subsided, hand falling from the brace he’d planted on his skull. “Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just get going to the party or whatever.”

 

* * *

 

The soft whinny of violins accompanied a grand piano that flanked the small stage of an orchestra on the roof of Via Caelum, bevies of people gathered in small, conversational cliques that milled in satin gowns and sharply cut designer suits, clinking champagne glasses to whatever cheers they proffered among themselves. Niflheim’s own seemed to partake in their own exchanges, an unspoken line of segregation keeping them from mingling among one another. Not that anyone was privy to break the silence with foreign enemies on native soil.

 

Noctis was positioned at a small, standalone table barely wide enough to accommodate two, something taken into purposeful deliberation. A water fixture cascaded water from a fluted column near him, softening his silhouette in milky light, one of many that illuminated the further perimeter of veranda and nearer to the enormous, cylindrical tank that held myriad aquamarine life in a picturesque view of cobalt blue. It was where Noctis would rather be, at least, and with his back to the banister it left his observance free to see Nyx, his father, and anyone else who could come within the vicinity. Better vigilant than anything.

 

Toying with a discarded paper umbrella from someone’s abandoned margarita, furtively did his gaze sometimes skate to where the emperor and his posse were located, conversing amiably with his father like a lion among hyenas. Almost too casually, despite the prince able to read the false smiles and tense lines of his features. Much of him wished his friends could be here, but as it stood, the invitation didn’t extend to them. Nyx was present, as was his father, even though the older Lucian was too occupied to speak with him and Nyx was engrossed in his own duties.

 

“My, _my_ —and what do we have here? Might you be the _fetching_ prince Noctis I’ve heard so much about?”

 

The voice that invaded his private reverie caused Noctis to flinch at the intrusive intimacy of it, as if spoken with a curling silver tongue into his ear. The realization caused the prince to bristle until he saw its owner saunter over to his table, taking up the other seat. Due to his height, the older man had to scoot back some as he crossed his legs and made himself comfortable, Noctis watching dumbfounded the whole time.

 

The man in question looked to be younger than his father and then some, sporting an unruly mane of burgundy hair and whittling brown eyes that appeared a brassy gold in the light of the table’s lone candle, he leaning forth some before making himself obscenely comfortable again. The light contoured to an angular, aged face still handsome, though it did nothing for the thick mantles he wore alongside the bulky overcoat, Noctis silently thinking the ensemble absurd. Certainly not Lucian fashion, that much was certain.

 

“Uh, do I know you?” Noctis rebutted rather bluntly, gazing sidelong before returning to the unwanted conversation partner. He subtly motioned and made a hold for his champagne glass, keeping it well from the stranger’s reach.

 

“A gala between the fair rulers of Lucis and those of us of Niflheim, and you do not even suspect who I am? _Tsk, tsk_ , Highness, I would think you’d have been aware. Not that I’m exactly against introductions, of course,” the man chuckled richly, flashing a winning smile, Noctis instinctively tensing at the sound. When Noctis made no attempt at interrupting, the stranger theatrically continued.

 

“Ardyn _Izunia_ ,” he enunciated, rolling over the syllables in a sensual flourish, “Chancellor of Nilfheim at your humble service, Your Highness. Truly, I am humbled to make your acquaintance. Especially upon this most ravishing of nights, wouldn’t you say?”

 

“Yeah. Sure,” Noctis clipped warily, suspicion dialed even higher. Then, his teeth grit, expression becoming stony and defensive. “Look, if you honestly think you can squeeze some sensitive information out of me, you’ve got another thing coming. So why don’t you—“

 

Ardyn covered his hand over Noct’s that had been balled into a fist on the table, the older man leaning forwards. Noctis wrenched his away brusquely, eliciting a slight chuckle from the Chancellor. “I’m not here to extort you, Highness. Can’t we engage in some civil conversation without all this rubbish about politics? It’s hardly what the evening is for, after all,” Ardyn chided with a patronizing smirk, Noctis scoffing and glowering at the older man.

 

“Yeah, it’s all about you planning how you’re gonna screw us over under our noses, isn’t it?” Noct snarled under his breath, all before something else caught it away entirely.

 

Dirty blonde hair caught the light of the enormous aquarium, crowning a svelte woman who stood before the painting of Etro in a creamy pearl sheath, hands clasped behind her back and seeming ethereally detached from all else. Noct’s jaw hung open for a minute before his consternation at Ardyn was all but forgotten and ignored. Rising hypnotically from his chair, he skirted around the Chancellor and made a beeline for this woman, his mind utterly convinced as to who it was. Noctis slowly ascended the spiral staircase the led into the upper viewing galleries where the painting was, and as if expecting him did the woman pivot slowly around.

 

She was even more beautiful up close. Remembering his boyish crush on the girl barely a year younger, her expression seemed to warm upon sighting him, violet eyes mellowing in a way he remembered from the near start.

 

“The moon’s a different color tonight, isn’t it, Prince Noct?” Even her voice was nearly the same. Just older.

 

“Stella? Just—how long has it been?” Noct floundered, staving away the boyish smile that was shaking away his formerly icy reserves. He suddenly became very self-aware of himself, wondering if his hair hadn’t been awkwardly ruffled by the wind or suit rumpled from sitting around for so long. Remembering that Stella likely wouldn’t care, he laughed. A genuine relief of a sound. “Sorry, I guess it’s just been so long, you know?”

 

“I can see that,” Stella agreed cheerily, giggling into her hand. However, her eyes seemed to search over his shoulder, the prince belatedly aware as to why. The hungry gaze boring through his skull likely had something to do with it. _Fucking creep._ “Was I interrupting something with the Chancellor?”

 

“Hm? Nah. Trust me, it’s nothing,” Noctis averted, refusing to indulge Ardyn for even a moment. If the Chancellor practically stalking him kept him away from his father, all the better. “But, uh, what about the moon?”

 

The glow on Stella’s face was practically lunar itself, leading him to one of the overlooks on a balcony that jutted away from the rooftop veranda. The descent into the streets between was over a dozen stories high, he internally glad neither of them was really afraid of heights. The moon was shrouded by cloud cover before high winds aloft whisked them away, the giddiness at their meeting dissipating as his smile fell.

 

The moon was a bloodshot red, practically crimson. It seemed larger than when he’d last remembered it, and hardly like the harvest moons they saw in the autumn. “It’s… Stella, is that even normal?”

 

Stella sighed deeply, folding her arms and leaning forwards on the banister, bowing her head. “It’s the light of Etro. You remember when we were kids in Tenebrae, right? How we were able to see the dead like that one legend? Well… I think this is her light. I think it means something.”

 

“Starscourge,” he breathed, drawing a look of real concern from Stella. “And I bet Niflheim has something to do with it. Awful convenient to start up negotiations again after years of a stalemate.” Much of him knew he was right. From what Nyx had iterated from his own personal account on the battlefield prior to his demotion, Niflheim had taken to employing Magitek soldiers and daemons. Not exactly an ordinary arsenal, even for an empire like them. With how they’d absorbed Tenebrae’s own crystal in recent years, it was no wonder they’d shored an incredible offensive, unlike anything they’d faced before.

 

Stella fell silent, anxiously twiddling her thumbs. “I know I can’t…really agree with you, not openly, but—you might not be wrong either, Noct,” the younger woman acceded, lips pursing as she glanced over her shoulder, metaphorically shaded by the empire that had taken Tenebrae into their hold a dozen years ago. She didn’t have the freedom she deserved, it twisting a dagger in Noct’s gut to know, and be unable to do anything about it. They were sitting ducks as long as such threats hung vicariously over them.

 

“Oh, how I do _loathe_ cutting short the conversation of you lovebirds, but I’m afraid the Lady Stella must run along now. In fact, I insist upon it.” Noctis’ guard flared once again when that familiar voice seemed to caress his very bones, bristling in revulsion whilst Stella visibly flinched. “General Caligo is waiting for you, dear, and it would be best not to prolong it, hm~?”

 

At the mention of his name did Stella tense up, trembling hands coming to her sides as her head bowed, nodding tersely and ducking away from Noctis without so much as a farewell. “What the hell have you done to her?” he hissed under his breath at the Chancellor, the maroon-haired man meeting it with a rather pompous smirk.

 

“Oh, Noct, whatever are you talking about? Please, Lady Stella has been treated with naught but utter respect since Tenebrae’s absorption into the empire. Perhaps she is simply weary, as I imagine you must be.” Ardyn neared him and Noctis was suddenly made acutely aware of just how much taller Ardyn was, the man shadowing the prince with the light at his back like some unholy deity, a feral shine taking to those brassy eyes. Nostis wheeled to face him, skirting around him, but not fast enough. Ardyn casually sauntered in his path, appearing to the casual observer to be two men uncertain as to who should pass to allow the other through. Through his fingerless glove did those calloused digits come to grip Noctis by his chin, snugly fitted between his thumb and curled index finger. “Do take care not to let your suspicions run away with your imagination, hm? For I cannot say what would happen if such dreadful talk were to reach the ears of Lady Stella and her retainers.”

 

His smile was greasy and sleazy, causing Noctis to hiss and snap away in revulsion, slapping the Chancellor’s hand away. “Just stay the hell away from her, you bastard!”

 

“That’s the spirit, Noct. Do take care to maintain these high spirits of yours for the morrow. I am looking forward to it _eagerly_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: God fucking lord what a skeavy bastard. Still very fun to write, though. I honestly thought this chapter might go a bit differently, but I think in the case of this AU fic, Ardyn’s expressing himself more darkly than I thought and I’m actually pretty pleased. Granted, I’m not entirely surprised. He was creepy and overly intense (and flirtaceous, lbrh] with the boy band throughout the game, but when he’s alone around Noct? Boy oh man. 
> 
> In any case, don’t expect any long dissertations explaining what’s what here in the notes. Hopefully, things will unravel themselves out.
> 
> As always, credit goes to Final Fantasy Peasant, OfLucii, and Breaaker92 for the material that’s making this fic happen! And maybe the unrealized potential of those old Versus XIII trailers that make me weep with what could’ve been, but who’s asking?
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	3. The Monument of Memory

( **Warning(s]** : M, gory battle, major character deaths]

 

* * *

 

“Let me through, Crowe! I have to get to the royal crypt!”

 

Noctis was in a fine state of indignation after they had returned to the Citadel once more, agitation surging at the memory of Niflheim’s damned Chancellor and the state he’d seen Stella in after twelve years of separation. Of how Ardyn Izunia had bred something vitriolic in his breast, a fire that was inextinguishable by that point. The family crypt was as heavily guarded as the crystal chamber, submerged in as much darkness with the thirteen principle weapons each heir was destined to choose for their Armiger arsenal secreted within. Usually, a grand ceremony would be conducted on each heir’s twenty-first birthday to select thirteen among the one hundred and thirteen available. However, Noctis didn’t have that kind of time to burn.

 

“Easy there, Your Highness. Look, I’m not trying to ruffle any feathers, but would you maybe be so kind as to why you want in so badly?” the brunette asked with a cocked hip and placating hands, Noctis’ eyes hard on the sealed entrance as though his determination could burn a hole through solid black marble.

 

“I have to get the rest of my arsenal. It can’t wait,” the prince explained impatiently, Crowe Altius’ eyes traveling to the doors in understanding. With Noctis held so tensely, she could only wonder what occurred at Via Caelum to impress such strong urgency within the prince. But, she understood. With the conversation had with her friends just the night before and the assault waged by Niflheim just days ago, she felt compelled.

 

“Alright, alright—I’ll let you in. But, with everything going on, I think I should accompany you, Highness. If Niflheim is really pulling all the stops, who knows what might be in there?”

 

Noctis smiled gratefully at the older woman, she uttering a spell that dislodged the magically imbued lock and disengaging the locks with hollow, cavernous resonance. Funny how she and her compatriots had been practically demoted after Niflheim’s recent attack, Noct’s teeth grinding with urgency. The doors really couldn’t be any slower, could they?

 

Parting with gainful deliberation, Noctis impatiently slid his thin frame through the doors with Crowe grunting with the effort of coaxing a greater ingress than before, despite the near futility of it. The prince breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering closed as the glaive watched him intently.

 

“So...how do you plan on doing this, anyways?” Crowe broached dubiously, brown eyes glancing at the prince rather expectantly.

 

Noctis exhaled slowly, lids lifting to reveal the spectral crimson that illumined in his eyes, Crowe taken aback. Ranging his head, the male’s gaze stopped upon the form of Mors Lucis Caelum, his grandfather whom regarded him with a slow, solemn nod, translucent and glowing bright. “Remember the legend of Etro and how she bestows her sight to those who crossed death? Well, there’s kinda more to it. Only those who have been chosen by a Crystal can utilize it as a power. Power I’m gonna need,” Noctis explained softly, eyes transfixed on his predecessor. “I can’t go over over a hundred tombs waiting for the weapons to choose me. This is how it has to be.”

 

Perhaps it was hardly the most orthodox of means, but through the long, vaulted corridor that seemed to span interminably before them, thirteen ghosts that included his grandfather in their retinue stood in silent procession, some with their gazes trained on him. Crowe couldn’t see them, just as it’d be. Even if he preferred doing this alone, part of him didn’t mind the company.

 

Gazing upon Mors was like seeing a mirror image of himself in the future. The man solemnly waited for Noctis to genuflect before the tomb, Crowe a reverently silent witness. The phantom stood before Noctis, placing a hand upon the crown of his head and meditating for a long moment, until his eyes cracked open and he seemed pleased. Turning as though procuring a crown that would sate a coronation, he reached for his finely crafted gunblade. Slimmer than Noctis’ own engine sword, he held it before the prince who placed his hand upon its razor edge. Like before, it took on a translucent, cobalt glow that outlined it. Suspending from Mors’ own hands, it rose aloft until it suddenly surged into Noctis’ breast, as though piercing him through the heart. He flinched, but there was no other indication of having accepted the weapon that Crowe could see.

 

“So, that’s it? You just genuflect before these crypts and wait to get a weapon?” Crowe broke through as Noctis rose, eyes still aglow.

 

The prince shrugged. “Trust me, it’s better this than the ceremonial way of doing it. We’d be here for hours. Besides, no one’s forcing you to stay here,” Noctis said pointedly, speedily recovering from accepting the first blade and standing straight.

 

Crowe snorted, a hand loosely perched on her hip. “You kidding me? Last thing I need is to have my hide tanned for allowing the crown prince down here without protection.” Her smirk was wry and humored, earning a brief upturn of Noctis’ own lips.

 

“Heh, well, sorry to make your babysitting job so boring,” the prince simpered, all before Mors faded away and the luminous trail of the next spirit that indicated he had to keep pushing through. “Alright, let’s keep going. This shouldn’t take much longer.”

 

* * *

 

It was in the companionable silence of his room did Noct find himself hours later, Ignis dutifully attending to the prince’s inability to properly knot a tie. Even so, both men seemed equally dispassionate towards the idea of teasing one another. Not today. Not when it felt as though they could lose everything.

 

“There. Right as rain,” Ignis stated after smoothing down the silk tie and adjusting the lapels. He stood aside to let Noctis avail himself before the mirror, even though Noctis had no interest in doing so. Truth of the matter was, the only reassurance he truly felt was the energy of a complete Armiger set thrumming in his very being, reminding him of the recently accrued power. Crowe had been generous enough to break him into the arsenal by sparring in an untouched expanse of the familial tombs where none of the crypts were, to avoid damaging the statuesque likenesses entombed at each lid of the graves. Even though time had been short, at least he was comfortable with it.

 

Thunder outside answered Ignis’ words with a deep, steely rumble that reverberated through the very foundation of the Citadel, lightning flashing brightly in the night sky, brightening it to a pitch like daylight before falling utterly dark again. It seemed ominous, but what Noct could clearly see was the outline of Niflheim warships, of the like he’d seen only a few days before at the soiree in honor of the treaty.

 

“Where’s Gladio and Prompto?” Noctis asked suddenly, turning to Ignis who had been adjusting the time of his watch.

 

“I believe they will be meeting us at the deliberations. Nothing too out of sort, thankfully,” Ignis replied automatically, finishing with his watch after finalizing his own hair. Ignis always had been the fussy sort when not being a busybody, after all.

 

“I don’t have a good feeling about this. But, at least I’m ready,” Noctis said enigmatically, knowing it would likely raise suspicions. So far, only Crowe Altius knew about what he did, even if it was vitally necessary. As far as Ignis was concerned, that likely meant mentally and perhaps physically, with necessities and whatever was necessary for travel. Not being armed with the full Armiger arsenal that likely no one would have anticipated.

 

His thoughts drifted to Ardyn, remembering the man’s obnoxiously obtuse and domineering demeanor, feeling the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle as if by instinct. There was something fiendishly satisfying about being a fully-fledged Armiger now, and how he almost anticipated the thought of Ardyn trying to corner him, only for the prince to menace his weapons on the man for daring to test him. Ardyn would be an idiot to try and intimidate him now.

 

 _Stella_. The sole caveat to his fantasy withered away at the thought of her, of how Ardyn’s last spoken threat hammered a numb toll of consequence. Of what would happen if he acted on such a capricious whim, warranted or not. His hands balled into fists and blanched from the pressure, teeth gritting. It seemed that no matter what angle he could approach this conundrum with Stella, it would end badly if he took hold of it on his own.

 

At least Ignis didn’t pursue after his thoughts despite the readability of his face.

 

“Noct, are you ready to go?”

 

“As I’ll ever be.”

 

* * *

 

“Ah, the incumbent prince, come to grace us with his presence. Truly, it is a pleasure!”

 

Iedolas Aldercapt was a man as theatrical as his own Chancellor, Noctis forcing himself to at least smile, decent enough not for Emperor Aldercapt to suspect him as much. The signing venue had been arraigned within a specially outfitted chamber designated as the place of entreaty, similar in construct to the throne room, only devoid of a throne. Piercingly bright, artificial light rained from above as some substitute for sunlight, angling across the two lavish seats that presided over an onyx-veneered desk with the treaty itself enclosed in a parcel of black leather stamped with gold leaf, no expense spared, Noctis observed grimly.

 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Noctis greeted in turn, bowing stiffly, everything he could think of saying already rehearsed in his mind. Thankfully, stiffness could be disguised as formality, Iedolas nodding his head in recognition.

 

“I am glad to meet you, Prince Noctis. For you see, a day will come upon your... _ascension_ when we shall someday commune as I do quite frequently with your father. It is good we meet before then,” the emperor continued before tapering off, swanning towards his seat with an arrogant stride that hardly befit the short, lissome form he boasted. For even his face look too stripped of meat, skin hanging on bones jutting too sharply. “Until then, I certainly hope you learn much from this, young prince.”

 

“But of course,” Noctis obliged, bowing again—though, speaking such small pleasantries with the emperor made him taste only acerbic bile in his throat, forcefully swallowing down the urge to possibly make a face. Finding his reserved seat, he searched through those present and saw Gladio and Prompto standing near the back with Ignis in full Kingsglaive regalia, looking more regal than what Noctis was honestly used to—though it wasn’t entirely disagreeable. He’d been wearing nothing but suits himself these past few days.

 

However, a disturbance burgeoned when he felt an odious presence crowd into his aura, feeling someone stand obscenely close, their hand on a side of his chair’s back and looming over him. “Excited for the proceedings, my dear prince?” Ardyn purred conversationally, the restive hand strumming its fingers almost impatiently where Noctis could see in his periphery. Some people cast wary looks to the Chancellor, namely Regis whose brows furrowed in discontent at seeing his son so close to Ardyn. However, given the fragile peace that had been mustered for the peace talks, all he could do was set his jaw and do nothing—much to Ardyn’s perverse satisfaction.

 

The Chancellor rounded Noct’s chair and smugly took the seat to his right and crossed his legs primly, Noctis exhaling tensely as his own jaw set, fighting the urge to clock Ardyn square in the jaw then and there. “Wouldn’t you like to know...” he murmured ruefully within Ardyn’s earshot, the man’s lips quirking in a brief, gloating smile. Staving away his agitated thoughts, he instead concentrated on the crowd, scanning for Stella or even Ravus. As far as he knew, the Nifs were supposed to be seated on the emperor’s left, Lucians to Regis’ right. With Ardyn’s bold infraction did it seem the lines between them were drawn in the sand, Ardyn gladly scuffing it away with his heel as though they were nothing.

 

A camera crew was stationed in one of the upper galleries, Noctis glancing upwards as the camera panned out, televising the entire proceeding live. Noctis’ nails dug tensely into the armrests, wishing he could somehow move at the very least, Ardyn looking gleefully ambivalent to the irritation of the prince.

 

“Your Imperial Majesty, Your Majesty—we’re ready to begin,” Clarus announced, rising from his seat to Noctis’ left, his dark blue eyes following the Crownsguard with careful scrutiny.

 

Regis pursed his lips before rising with Iedolas in tow, the aged emperor doing so with slowed motor control, back stooped from age. Standing tall despite leaning on his cane, Regis stood poised to speak. “Many years, trials and tribulations have passed to lead to this day. However, I believe that through them, with the patronage of Emperor Aldercapt can we achieve a lasting peace.” Noctis’ brows furrowed. That wasn’t how he felt at all! Regis had said himself the people dissented, didn’t want to relinquish their homes. He bit his tongue to contain an outburst he felt burbling magmatic in his throat.

 

“Such wise words of a wiser monarch!” Iedolas crowed with a flourishing wave of his hand before lowering it again. “Truly, we have all spent too much time in enmity, too much in suffering. The time to put an end to it is at hand. Sooner than we dare think.” Aldercapt’s voice trailed off suspiciously, the air suddenly becoming heavy. Noctis stole a glance at Ardyn, the man’s smile plastered there and gaze enigmatic beneath his fedora, trained ahead. Like a cat waiting to eat the canary. His eyes widened, knowing exactly what was to come.

 

A series of explosions rocked the Citadel outside, dully resonant. Noctis was up like a shot as Iedolas procured a pistol to train upon Regis whilst Noctis hauled Ardyn by his collar and pinned him to the wall with a surprised noise from the Chancellor. With a crystalline chorus of scraping did Regis summon his own Armiger weapons, honing them upon Iedolas and those of Niflheim alike whilst the king’s magic summoned those of their own and held them in a stalemate.

 

“Oh, _Noct_ , how right I was about you,” Ardyn intoned huskily, gold eyes dilating widely upon the prince as his elbow pinned Ardyn to the wall by his neck, Noctis gritting his teeth. He did nothing to struggle, until the prince’s eyes flared hotly in all their power, gleaning a fiendish grin from the older man.

 

However, their attrition was hampered by a cry of pain from Regis, Noctis’ gaze alighting upon it as he watched, terror-struck, as Clarus drove his enormous broadsword through Regis’ ribcage, gore and viscera painted darkly in streaks upon the blade as Regis gaped in horror and delayed pain, his eyes wide and swords dropping clangorously from their hovering brandish.

 

“DAD!” Noctis roared, his own Armiger weapons manifesting to everyone’s surprise, hovering as light at the tips of his fingers conducted a florescent path as he slashed downwards, several blades goring grotesquely through the traitor and pinning him to the wall, head limp and body slumping from the instant death. The blades withdrew and Clarus’ body fell into a bloody heap, chaos ensuing as Niflheim lords clashed with Lucians, the prince bolting towards his father.

 

Darkness suddenly enveloped the throne room and a sole limelight of bright, cold white light was trained upon Regis, Noctis having caught his body before it fell to the ground. An unseen exchange occurred, Noctis’ ability allowing him to see the past Lucii, even if their words were unintelligible to him. As the light faded and the darkness of before returned, Noctis was suddenly charged at by Gladio.

 

“Gladio, what the hell—it’s me! What are you doing?!” Noct bellowed as his engine blade clashed loudly with Gladio’s enormous broadsword, glancing it away in a parry. Remembering Clarus, he couldn’t help but wonder—was Gladio a traitor, too?

 

“You’d never have been my king, prince,” the male spat venomously, summoning his sword to deliver another scathing blow whilst Noctis’ gaze switched frantically between him and his enraged friend, now a traitor. His knees bent from the force of his impact, grunting beneath Gladio’s prodigious strength.

 

“What the hell are you talking about?! We’ve been friends since we were kids!” Noctis shot back, feinting nimbly away as the blunt of Gladio’s sword smashed to the marble in his rage, attempting to bludgeon him again.

 

“This has been going on a lot longer than that!” Gladio seethed, Noct shouting an expletive as his next blow sent Noctis careening backwards a few feet, just able to see the enraged tears glimmer down his angular cheeks, Noctis belatedly realizing whatever had been festering with father and son might’ve stopped at Gladio. Now? Now was too late.

 

As Noctis rounded his arsenal to hone before him like pales planted in the dirt to stop an encroaching army, Gladio heedless in his rage. He wanted this nightmare to be over, to not have it come to this. They’d been amiable their whole lives, even if it was rife with contention and Gladio’s own grudging accompaniment when he was younger. But, that was then! It could be stopped, could halt somehow—

 

Just as Gladio had prepped to smite his sword in a manfully powerful arc, he halted and eyes widened to saucers, mouth agape with pain as a splitting of flesh and cloth by blade ensued. Noctis watched in abject horror as a small point of metal sprouted from Gladio’s sternum, where his heart was, with a forceful enmeshing of bone. Blood spurted with enough force to splatter on Noctis’ face, his prone form stock still and watching as though time itself stopped.

 

Gladio’s body crumpled in a dead heap, blood pooling thick and dark and reflective around him, revealing his killer to be none other than Ignis. The younger man’s hands shook from the effort, face not as stalwart as he often wished to believe he was. A free, quaking hand tremulously pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, barely breathing. Noctis regained himself after a long moment despite the ensuing violence, gazing in silent disbelief and mournfulness at Gladio’s prone, rapidly bleeding form that seemed to grow paler the longer he stared. One of his closest friends, gone.

 

“Ignis,” he murmured softly as he trudged over to Ignis, the man having found the need for support against a wall, forearm raised in a brace against it that his forehead rested on. Noctis attempted to place his hand comfortingly on Ignis’ shoulder, only to be brusquely rolled off faster than a flinch.

 

“Noct...please. Go to the crystal room. Just go,” he spoke thickly and weak, resolving fiercely to stave away the mournful tremor in his voice.

 

Seeing that Noctis could do nothing else, he nodded blankly, sidestepping and fumbling a few strides back and nearly stumbling before regaining his pace and breaking off at a sprint.

 

There would have to be a time to mourn later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: I’ll admit, writing this chapter took a lot out of me. Killing off Gladio wasn’t easy, but based on info I’d gotten from some stray FFvs13 leaks I snagged at the last minute, it felt inevitable—especially if Gladio’s father went first. As it described Gladio & Clarus as traitors, among others. And Ignis, well—the toll that took on him must’ve been enormous, too. Lord knows it killed this author. Thankfully, even though some big characters will be killed off, as both in canon and not, several more that died off early will live on. 
> 
> On a lighter note, I really don’t think Ardyn is going to cool off with his flirtations anytime soon—so much for eventual Ardynoct, huh? For what it’s worth, though, he’s going to get his smug ass knocked down several rungs in the incoming chapters. Hopefully it’ll be coolio with you all!
> 
> Also, special credit goes to Dartigan for their Game Sins video pertaining to FFXV. A big point was made about how why the family crypt wasn’t just in the palace/Citadel like how most royal families do, so I made that a thing here. So no family arms hunting in this fic!
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	4. Praying in the Street

( **Warning(s)** : M, gore, mutilation]

* * *

 

Much of him couldn’t believe what had happened, did. Memory of just moments before seeped and poisoned the very fore of his mind, of Gladio—no, his _friend’s_ —death. Delayed panic from the ordeal made the prince have to brace his hands against a window and try not to retch, a few curses able to seemingly keep it down just long enough. Ignis was okay, but…Prompto. Where the hell had he gone? His dad had invoked the Ring of the Lucii which forestalled death, the lack of a scorching body proof of that; regardless, his father was living on purely borrowed time. Part of him believed he should be grateful: Clarus’ betrayal spelled his father’s death if he hadn’t.

Maybe, they’d have enough time to say good-bye.

Dull, thunderous mortar fire in the streets below rocked and shook the very air, the prince numbly lifting his head to see a profuse bloom of bright titian blossom in a high, roiling column of smoke and its pure, incendiary heat. Several more grew from it like a hydra, Noctis stock still for a long moment as he watched, morbidly transfixed on the carnage, of the aerial silhouettes revealed through the destruction—of Niflheim’s airships. Noctis grit his teeth, hissing as he pounded a clenched fist against the glass.

“DAMMIT!” he cursed through the empty corridor, only to be met with the uniform staccato of magitek troops, seeing them far off enough. Far enough not to catch him.

The crystal chamber’s doors awaited him as he skidded to a halt after sprinting long and hard, only slightly winded as they opened for him, the prince then slamming them shut before the MT’s could think of pursuing him; they were never bright to begin with, thank Etro.

However, he wasn’t in there alone. A lone figure stood before the Crystal’s encasement, their palm splayed on its mirrored surface with runic circles alight in a dance around it. Hooded and clad in thick, ornate white robes, Noctis’ heart sank with realization.

“Ravus. Thought you would show up sooner or later,” Noctis began, brows furrowing resentfully. Why else would he be here? Certainly not to discuss the weather, or think of liberating Stella. Nilfheim needed the only surviving users of Tenebrae’s crystal alive and well, after all. Alive enough to be used as weapons.

Upon being addressed, Ravus turned around, hood still masking the upper portion of his pale visage. The robes draped over his thin frame, seeing that not even Tenebrae’s eldest son had escaped the ravages of his tormentors. If only he was here to parlay.

“The Void Crystal, safe within the land of its protectors as it has been for generations. What a privilege it must be,” Ravus sneered as he removed the hood in a single, fluid motion, revealing a handsomely angular visage hard with resentment and a stony anger. His mismatched eyes were exactly as Noctis had remembered them. “Tell me how easily you must sleep living such an uninterrupted life.”

“Ravus, cut the crap! Can’t you see they’re using you? They’ve got Stella on some kinda…ball and chain, too!” Noctis retorted angrily, eyes taking on their now signature reddened glow, Ravus regarding him darkly.

“Don’t pretend you suddenly care for her! Not after what you did to us!” Ravus snarled acerbically, lips curling in a hiss as his own eyes suddenly flared a hot, indignant gold—molten in light. Runic circles whirred to near life in incandescence around Noctis, enclosing him in a cage that grew hotter from the building magic of Tenebraen power.

There really was nothing he could against this, could he? “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” he murmured under his breath as ghosting sprites of cobalt light seemed to ghost past his head before emblazoning to the tips of his fingers, a lashed out gesticulation summoning all dozen swords outside of Ravus’ proximity to hone with deadly threat upon him, bridged by crystalline fractals and fragments of Ravus’ magic.

No, there would be no speaking.

Ravus’ spell short-fired and Noctis cried out as its effects struck him before he could properly retaliate, hurdling with a smoke trail fumigating in his wake as the blast sent him sailing a dozen feet to crack a panel of glass of the sanctum’s outer walls, Noctis hastily retaliating with all of his swords snaking in a unified body of steel to slash numerously on Ravus’ person, his white robes becoming streaked by bloodstains.

A volley of runic circles manifested in a haphazard path for Noctis to warp through, incinerating rays scorching the ground and vaporizing their air before Noctis emerged through and slammed bodily into Ravus in a heap of smog and sparks, crying out in rage as he did, the hit connecting. The white-haired man struggled for a moment before runes lit his arm and profuse lightning erupted from his palm to scorch Noctis squarely in the chest, the male feinting away before the worst of it wounded him.

Dodge rolling to the floor, Ravus collected himself and a sword of pure fire manifested in his right hand whilst the other was free, his sleeves shorn away to the elbows. It crackled animatedly whilst Noctis’ Armiger swirled in a deadly whorl at his back. Eyes of hellion fire and pure, holy gold glowered in feral connection before Noctis warped to the pinnacle of the Crystal’s encasement, there by virtue of good balance before his blades flickered to and from shimmery summon, landing blows the Tenebrean expertly parried, their ilk famed for the abilities at swordsmanship.

However, they seemed inconsequential as Noctis warped to Ravus’ blindside, a roundhouse of his falchion and a battle cry gashing Ravus’ flank the Tenebraen cried out in agony at, steel searing through flesh and bone that cut visceral and airily through. Noctis watched with belated ferocity as Ravus wheeled on his feet, clutching his side with as extreme a pressure as he could muster before using white magic to temporarily seal the superficial wound, then downing a hi-potion in the same moment. Enough to preserve, but not to save.

“Like so many years ago...exactly what you committed unto Luna!” Ravus growled ravenously, propelling a salvo of fiery projectiles that largely missed the acrobatic prince, even though some fatally struck him. Noctis braced himself on the weight of his sword, panting heavily.

“Just what the hell are you talking about?!” Noctis roared in a fury of indigence, surging in a warp blow to Ravus, bearing upon his rapier a manful weight of Lucian power, sparks flying between the friction of their hallowed blades in this contest of Crystals.

“You killed Luna! You killed her, prince!” Ravus roared, the prince shell shocked. He...what?

Noctis stared in abject shock at Ravus, mouth gaping and failing for words as something hot and mournful burbled in the deep confines of his throat. “Wha…? You mean...” His defenses were pitiable, remembering the vision from the Crystal but a few days before of the boyish past coated in blood that couldn’t possibly belong to someone so innocent. He didn’t contest Ravus, the elder enraged by his failing ability to articulate such a clear guilt.

Empowered by magic did Ravus surge like a typhoon and buffet Noctis into the very wall, shattered glass shards digging fatally into the prince’s body. “Of course you would never regret! Not when your precious father protects you from all the world’s ills!” he rejoined with a severe downturn of his lip, their eyes matched and blazing into one another’s like two halves of an equal fire. For the Crystals of Tenebrae and Lucis were oft thought as being equals, as it was purported. Even to today, under Niflheim control whom reared the last of the Fleurets like work mules to labor their power from the Crystal.

“Like hell I am,” Noctis rebutted as his own proficiency with magic manifested as an icy pall, Blizzara tearing their close encounter apart before Noctis barely dodged a rune that manifested at the zenith of the chamber, a staggering inferno blazing and tearing an enormous maw through solid stone and blazing into the open sky, the prince watching, dumbfounded, at the spectacle. In the breadth of that moment did Ravus feint a counterattack, more runes glowing furiously beneath Noctis on his perch and his sword-free hand clapped upon the prince’s chest, illumined a fierce, white light until a jettison of pure energy erupted and sent Noctis careening sharply through the very hole that had decimated the ceiling.

A sensation of being weightlessly suspended enveloped the prince for a long moment before the slow beginning of his fall became one fast and hard. Rounding his machine blade in a summoned flourish, the prince grunted loudly as he lobbed the weapon as hard as he could, lodging it in the very landing of where the central stairway fed into, black smoke dissipating from his figure as he slowly stood.

Face deadpanned and composure uncannily cold, a bevy of MT’s and their downed prey of innocent Lucian citizens slumped on the immense staircase, bleeding profusely from a fresh death, the scarlet of magitek eyes nearly as brightly hued as his own. With a silent guard did they return to their wordless formation, firearms brandished to train upon him until one began an erratic path of firing bullets that chipped upon the stairs until theycrossed him. With a crystalline clangor did they ricochet off the faces of the blades that converged upon him like a shield. This the only allowance of silence amid the storm.

He suddenly paused as the gunfire ceased, the sprites of light following the movement of his hand as he seized his engine blade in a flourish, hurling it among the rabble and swords erupting like a scorpion’s sudden sting, impaling through several and cutting a manic whorl through those unfortunate enough to be within close proximity of him in a dazzling display of deadliness and crystalline shards that seemed to dance in his wake. Noctis winced when a stray few bullets embed themselves in his flesh, belatedly remembering he hadn’t even healed himself after Ravus’ critical strike that had landed him there at all. Casting Cura on himself, flesh expelled the invasive shrapnel and stitched back together, a macabre display if timed to play out through his action.

The prince leapt dexterously to break a soldier’s neck between his legs with a harsh crush of metal and bone, alighting again to the ground and summoning his blades to a fold, sundering through another battalion close enough to him through their accelerated push, Noctis grunting as he was strafed by gunfire but largely protected from their onslaught. Warping away to mount the stairs, to proceed up them, a sudden show of swarming force by the MT’s was roughly pushed back with a rebuttal like a rejecting wave of power to expel them back.

In a hair-raising flash of light did Noctis abscond several stories into the air, appearing like a hellion spirit among those foolish enough to begin an ascent to vie their way into the crystal chamber. Hurling it across between the expanse wherein the statues of past Lucian queens were recessed, it gored through one whilst he warped above another, lancing through viscerally with a lancet part of the arsenal. Allowing himself to warp again to the ground, slowly turning over his shoulder did he pay witness to a ragtag group prepping a bazooka for firing, its launch immediately upon his being grounded.

It connected in a fiery inferno, plumes of voluminous smoke lingering in the air before being dispelled by the centrifugal and hasty whirling of his blades, scintillating as they diffused the smoke away from his unscathed person, scarlet eyes glowing ominously from within the plumes of smoke still lingering. They could easily be taken out, enough so—

Noctis’ train of thought remained incomplete upon sighting a head of blonde in the moonlight, the male’s brows furrowing together in wide-eyed disbelief as he saw Stella from afar, standing in living relief against the charred and ashen remains of bombed out, hollow husks of buildings. Noctis felt the blood drain from his face when he remembered Ravus’ confrontation with him, wondering if this could even be different. Taking no chances to opt out—not when Stella could still be saved—Noctis hurled his engine falchion close to the lay of streets he’d spotted her, noting it seemed as though she’d been spirited away.

“Stella!” he called out, heedless to any MT’s that would seek to locate him. Stumbling through a foray of streets disjointed in connection and the numerous ruined vehicles that tarnished once fair city streets, he stopped short when he saw Stella in a ray of moonlight, appearing ethereally fair despite the reluctance and bellicose expression that crossed her face in a mingling contention. “Stella. Look—we don’t have to fight! The Nifs are using you!”

“I’m not fighting for them,” Stella answered after a pregnant pause, violet eyes shining with tears. “Do you still not remember? What happened to Luna?” Her voice sounded strained, like one of a woman struggling to maintain the composure in her voice. She dashed towards him for a few beats before hesitating, clipped short; and he towards her as if mirroring the motion. “Noct, answer me!”

“Stella, I’m...sorry,” the prince answered lamely, expression strained as her own. He didn’t want to have it come to this, and neither did she. But, with something this monumental hung over their heads, there wasn’t time to hash it out. Only their swords would speak where emotions ran flat in this time of ineffable chaos.

Blinking away a stray few tears, Stella scrubbed them away before a florescent golden wing skirted by runic symbols manifested at her back, a gold rapier manifesting whilst ghostly gold outlines of similar blades suspended in the air around her just as his did. Stella and he had always been the most alike as children, it coming as no surprise that her abilities manifested as an Armiger just like his. The Crystals were funny like that sometimes.

Warping in streaks of respective gold and cobalt, fractals of light lingering in their wakes, their swords clashed together. Noctis observed as Stella’s features were set with determination, the reluctance scoured away. She was as evenly matched as him despite being slightly younger, Noctis parrying her blade with a growl that she adroitly leapt away and landed from, not suffering from recoil. From his blindside did a torrent of her crystalline blades lock in conflict with his own, sparks scattering from the friction of contact. His teeth grit from the onslaught, Stella holding herself with all the phantasmal grace someone of her carriage and upbringing could hope to bear.

Noctis warped from the contact and the relief of contention paused Stella’s blades to lodge within the nearby wall of stone before being extricated, the woman ranging for sight of him before her back was lacerated harshly at, the woman crying out in pain. Swiping her hand towards him did her entourage of swords in suit, bombarding him stiffly and managing to hack at his person, causing pain manifold.

She jumped to her feet after healing herself and brought her rapier defiantly to the blunt on Noctis’, the metal quivering from the force extolled between the two skilled Armiger users. Their swords locked in mirrored attrition, Noctis internally impressed at how equally matched they were despite the years spanned between them.

Forcefully parrying and dodge rolling away from her immediate vicinity, Noctis remained stooped in genuflection, glancing for something to use to his advantage. As though reading his mind, Stella managed to snap herself from the momentary daze and bring her rapier in a whippet of metal that heavily filleted flesh from his arm, Noctis gasping out from the pain as flesh was peeled and muscle tissue exposed. Hastily did he cast Curaga on himself, gasping out as she gazed down on him sadly, lower lip worrying as she fought down a strangled cry.

Her rapier clattered from her hand, followed by her suit of swords that fell in a loud clangor before ghosting away in wisps of light. “I can’t. I can’t kill you,” she whispered brokenly as her knees buckled and she crumpled to the pavement, just several feet away from Noctis with her head hung. “Even if you did kill Luna, I—Eos, forgive me!”

The remembrance struck him like lightning, Noctis’ eyes bulging as the vision from just nights before made sense, weighing him like a net of thorns and stones had been cast upon him; Ravus hadn’t just been attempting to antagonize him. Stella’s shoulders shook with sobs as she wept, the prince watching her forlornly after a long moment as his hand attempted to strain towards her, trying to provide some poor consolation.

Stella recoiled violently from the motion, summoning her rapier in a flash of light and pinning it through his hand, the prince crying out in pain. “Don’t touch me!” she rasped thickly, hiccuping from a sob, face messily streaked by fierce tears. Noctis’ hand twitched and writhed under the pressure of it, the prince doubling over as his mouth gasping soundlessly, unable to even speak the pain was so great.

Extricating her rapier, it dissipating in a cool burst of gold light, Stella stumbled away from him. Face torn by remorse at what she reduced Noctis to, she took off at a sprint into the night. She couldn’t face him. Not like this, and not now.

Pulling his trembling hand to be cradled like a lame animal, it quaked from the pain, spasmodically flexing and jumping from where the sword had met a junction of nerves, he too numb to express the pain on his visage. Gazing forlornly, between the emptiness she’d run into and the near abandoned Citadel, all he could hope to do was nurse his wound and pray for some salvation.

* * *

 

“Thank Etro you’re safe!”

It was his father who embraced Noctis the second he entered the fortified throne room, the doors and windows barred, likely the only bastion left in the city. Noctis’ vision blurred as he nearly wept tears of relief at his father being alive, even if the extension to Regis’ life was artificial and doomed to atrophy and perish within the matter of hours. The prince strongly returned it, burying his face against Regis’ shoulder.

“’m just glad you’re okay, dad,” Noctis replied with a small smile after they withdrew, the king’s hand lingering on Noctis’ shoulder. The prince proved the throne room for familiar faces, seeing but a handful of the council members left tending to the dead and dressing their wounds before disrobing them of their outer robes and blanketing them with it as a final measure of respect. Grimly did Noctis bow his head, knowing those present had fallen fighting nobly. Numbly did he realize Gladio and Clarus’ bodies weren’t anywhere to be found, likely attributing it to Ignis who was presently absent.

“Hey, Noct? You doing alright, bud?” Noctis turned to see Prompto tentatively approach him on halting strides, a hand suspended in air, motioning to rest it on the prince’s shoulder. Having since been released from Regis’ own attentions, Noctis clapped his hand on Prompto’s shoulder first, earning a relieved but cracked smile from his friend. One of the few he had left, apparently.

“Yeah, I think so,” Noctis lied, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Any idea where Ignis went?”

“I’m present, Your Highness.” Both young men turned to see Ignis approach them, the tallest of the trio appearing immeasurably exhausted, purple bags under his eyes and seeming pale. Perhaps what struck out the most was the bloodstains still coating his gloves and part of his suit jacket, since dried a rusty copper. “Noct, are you well? You’re favoring your hand.” Noctis belatedly looked down, forgetting he’d been cradled it since he returned.

“Huh? Oh, this,” he acknowledged distantly, lifting it some despite visibly wincing. “I fought Stella before I came here. That’s all.” It seemed so casual to say. As if he were merely recognizing some mere beckon for something else.

Ignis nodded, ushering Noctis towards him and guiding him by the small of his back. There, he directed the prince to sit on one of the few seats that remained whilst the adviser genuflected to gingerly and carefully inspect his hand. “My arm, too. Stella kinda hung me out to dry,” Noctis quipped lamely, quirking a hollow excuse of a smile that Ignis didn’t acknowledge.

“Gladio… I believe he may have not participated in his father’s conspiracy were it not for what happened,” the bespectacled man began in hushed tones, devising a concoction busily, almost in an excuse to avoid meeting the prince’s eyes. “I don’t blame you, Noct. You wished to protect your father as much as he did.”

“Sure as hell doesn’t sound like it!” Noctis flared acerbically, teeth gritting. His unscathed hand balled into a fist angrily, uncaring if the others were staring from such an outburst. “My dad happens to risk his life for us, and for what? For some petty traitor to sell us out! I’m not apologizing for killing Clarus, and even if Gladio didn’t mean to get mixed up in it, damn him! His dad was a fucking traitor, alright?!”

The air between them was held in shock, Ignis withdrawing from the medical attention momentarily as he looked upon Noctis impassively whilst the prince was still heated with indignation and anger, until the younger man’s face fell. “And...and now my old man only has a few hours left to live,” he finished brokenly, a few tears shining in their descent to his lap.

“I’m sorry, Noct. Truly, I am. Not one of had seen this coming. The responsibility of its burden isn’t yours alone to bear,” Ignis murmured, smiling tightly and cupping Noctis’ cheek, caressing away the salty tears that stained it. The prince couldn’t bring himself to even nod, blinking blearily from everything welling up in him. Bringing their foreheads together, it was a warm gesture Noctis closed his eyes into, breathing evenly.

Ignis withdrew after a long, much needed moment between them and finished patching Noctis up, the prince relatively less worse for wear in the wake of it. Regis regarded him, nodding to Nyx who was also present, the prince relieved to see the glaive had made it—Crowe present, too.

“I’m sorry to say we cannot stay here. The empire retreated momentarily, but as it stands, we need to clear a path so that those who wish to escape, can. I have heard grim things of what may be coming, even if we cannot confirm these for true,” Regis convened as they gathered around him; he, Noctis, Ignis, Prompto, Crowe, and Nyx all knowing it fell to them to defend the city. Or, what remained of it. “Noctis, when tonight’s battle is over, I want you to escape with whomever you can. Is that understood?”

“You’re not fighting this alone, Dad! I’m not leaving your side until the end,” Noctis resolved, leaning in a bit more than the others, Regis beaming with quiet pride at him.

“Well, us glaives aren’t going anywhere, so we may as well tough it out, too,” Crowe piped in agreement, earning an agreeing nod from Nyx.

“We have one another through this ordeal, and we will escape it. ...Even if not all of us will,” Regis concluded, nodding slowly but grimly.

Even if the reality weighed heavily on them, they understood. Noctis nodded tensely, all withdrawing from the close conference. Gazing at the enormous windows stained with night, the prince sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

"Noct? Hey—wake up. Noct? Noct!"

Noctis's eyes fluttered painfully open. An opaque silhouette filled his vision; distorted and frosty, blonde and cream. He blinked again, clearing away the fog and focusing an angel's blissfully soft and glowing face.

"Noct? Oh, thank Eos…" she sighed shakily, clutching her heart which was thudding loudly against her chest.

Noctis slowly rose forward, his head no longer on Stella's lap. She rubbed away tears from her eyes and forced herself to smile in a reassured way to her best friend. He glanced around the dark gloom, eyes still blurry and unfocused.

_Then why was it he could see Stella perfectly?_

Her long, beautiful blonde hair was matted and muddy from their fall, slightly dirt stained face streaked by clean, salty tears. Noctis was pained by her sadness and shyly embraced her, letting her cry on his shoulder.

"I-I don't even know where we are! I'm scared, Noct. I'm worried about Ravus, too. I'm just awful for doing that to him!" she cried with a tear-stained timbre.

"No, Stella. This isn't anyone's fault. We just need to focus on getting out of here." Noctis broke off. How was it he planned to do that?

Tree roots like gorging snakes and worms buried their heads and bodies in the dark loam, points and pinpricks of stray branches protruding from the roots. Domed ceilings caved and sagged in places, roots like high white-capped waves while others were like those crashing upon the shore. Chestnut wrinkles sagged on those roots, erratic and wild as an untamed river's unpredictable flow. Several paths into pitch abysses spanned out from them, as if a snake of large atrocities had burrowed through and created dank sewers for the otherwise pristine forests.

The floor was padded smooth dirt, organic and scented with the scents of dying matter. The place where they had fallen through let in stray beams of dappled light, dense forest canopy clouding what could have been a refugee stream of sunlight.

In the great, cavernous room like a large, upturned bowl they contemplated their escape, silently deciding that going through the way they came was obviously impossible.

Noctis craned his neck around, scenery flashing left and right as it whirled. He bit his lower lip, unsure of how to continue on. Each tunnel could be as promising or deadly as the last, but all had a pervading aura of uncertainty about them. The convulsing and bulging roots almost goaded them to go this way, that way, but none captured either of the children's confidence.

"I think we should go down the tunnel, Noct," Stella said suddenly, voice breaking the gloomy silence. Noctis's head whipped to focus on the young girl. Like a supernatural guide her hand was raised, lone finger pointing down the tunnel in the seeming center.

That hole seemed bigger than the rest, groomed smooth walls and the roots seemed less obvious here. It was as if someone had taken sandpaper against the abrasive walls of dirt and natural stone. It looked safe, maybe even easy to trek through, at least more so than any of the other natural hallways.

Noctis slowly, cautiously, stood. He offered his hand to Stella, who took it firmly to pull herself standing.

Despite her hopefulness regarding their escape, she clung to his arm, lips trembling into a frown. Noctis tried to smile reassuringly down at his friend, but in truth he was as nervous as Stella and losing confidence. They took small steps, shoes gingerly tapping on the firm earth. The encroaching darkness eagerly swallowed them as they proceeded down the tunnel, tongues of darkness delighting in the taste of their fear and at the same time shied away in revulsion at their defying light.

This place held for them a strange feeling of nostalgia, memories of people and places they had never seen or met. Noctis and Stella, as well as Ravus, had been experiencing such phenomena for years. It came with being who they were and yet none of them knew how or why they had such abilities in hindsight.

"Hey, Noct?"Stella's voice ventured, quivering. She glanced worriedly up at Noctis whose eyes were locked straight ahead with the glaring darkness.

He snapped from his reverie. "Yes?" He glanced down at her, trying to erase his building fear, trying to become the stoic prince he knew would calm her.

"I feel like we're being watched." She clung to his arm tighter, gulping down her nervousness.

Noctis looked around, expecting some repulsive and vile monster to snap out of the shadows or burst from the rooted earth to attack them. _No, let's banish away that thought_. He had to admit, his sixth sense was bristling at that sensation.

"R-Really? It's probably just your imagination or something. Darkness has that effect on you," Noctis said, grinding out a confident-sounding laugh, but ended up sounding like a demented hyena. He was scared, too, much to his shame.

Stella's hands knit together in nervous prayer, arm still around Noctis's sleeved arm. It was a miracle their clothes were intact so well. It probably had to do with the material that sourced from the wool of famous Tenebrean highland sheep-goat that was legendary for its durability. It made one wonder as to the content of normal, everyday clothes.

They continued to walk in heavy silence, balking at noises they thought they heard, startling at things they thought they saw. The ruminating darkness prompted them to think ahead, both apprehensive for what did or didn't lie ahead.

A grating metallic hiss startled them both. From the depths of the tunnel, far ahead or their meager range of vision, that hiss emanated loudly. Scales scrapping against rough tree bark clearly meant this being was a foe capable of treading the walls in a way that was clearly out of the normal capabilities of the standard ilk of fiend-kind.

"Noctis—!" Stella whimpered, eyes deadlocked straight ahead.

A terrifying hiss broke the silence again, nearer than it should have been. This predator was fast and could easily catch up to two walking at a snail's pace.

"Stella, run!" Noctis whispered fearfully. Releasing his arm in exchange for his hand, Stella dashed away in tow of Noctis. The young boy was remarkably fast, but young Stella was no slouch in that department either. Their legs churned up dirt and small stones as they ran, inhumanly long strides eating up the ground and spitting it behind in their wake. The beast in question hissed menacingly and seemed content to pursue its lively quarry, exhilarated by the prospect of bringing down a trophy worthy of its feral prowess.

Noctis glanced briefly behind and his eyes widened in pure terror as he caught sight of the monster. It was a snake with a head the size of a Catoblepas, its long serpentine body was gorged flesh that contracted and slithered as all snakes do along the ground, but this was no standard serpent. Its sidelong eyes were obviously not capable of seeing beyond its scaly snout, but heat pits could sense warm prey running with fervor away from its ready jaws. Retracted fangs waited for the exalting moment when one of them would trip and be completely vulnerable to its gaping maw and embrace of death.

Skittering rocks seemed to flee away in the demonic being's presence, but for its prey was like seconds ticking away noisily as they collided with wall of any solid surface. The grinding of scales and roots rose to a terrifying crescendo and completely drowned out the staccato of Noctis and Stella's dash of faith. The cacophony of desperate breaths, hisses, and the scales' abrasive friction against the walls ricocheted and rebounded in both of the children's ears, filling them indefinitely with terror.

Stella was breathing and gasping heavily, her hand growing clammy from a mix of sweat and dirt, which felt disgusting. But the hand she clung to was a saving hand and release from it would guarantee her untimely death.

Noctis was beginning to become enraged. This beast would dare put one of his best friends in danger! His hand shot out and he shouted: "Firaga!"

An inferno of flame seared from seemingly nowhere to pound the snake with heat equal to the sun's furious glare. The blast roared past the snake and swallowed it as easily as the snake would them, white heat gnawing at flesh and attacking protective scales. The flames consumed the snake in an awesome spectacle, stopping it cold as Noctis and Stella leapt into the main domed area from which they had fallen through. Smoke rose high from the searing inferno and crackled violently with the snake's high-pitched hisses of pain like a banshee.

Noctis and Stella cowered in each other's arms, fearfully watching as the flames leapt and danced in tribal beat. Their pulsating hearts provided accompanying drums for the flaming dancers, bending and swaying to breezing movements.

Both tried to release their breaths, but their petrified lungs refused to risk breathing the smoke of burning flesh. There was another reason as well for their bated breaths.

A holy wind whipped throughout the cavern, sourcing from nowhere. The snake burning under the entrance arc to the largest tunnel began to be swirled in this gyrating wind, the terrifying roar of the wind rising with the smoke.

The snake began to stir. A staggering hiss like a cackling witch rose from the serpent and rose in volume. Decibels too intense for their ears caused their hands to slap their ears shut to refuse the option of going deaf; both children squeezed their eyes shut in terrible pain.

The fires disappeared in a wil-o'-wisp, and snake began to heighten itself. Its head rose higher, its neck arching to glare enticingly at its prey. The beast's maw yawned open, fangs protruding and dripping with fetal black venom. Its lithe body began coiling around all of the entrances, the girth of its body wide enough to block those entrances. Noctis and Stella stared in abject wonder and a twisted sense of awe, ready for the worst. Flaps around its neck and body flared open, and this time flames like a multitude of torches flared, condescending heat trickling by their shocked faces.

The flames flickered and burned the rooted walls, threatening to consume. The earth was becoming scorched in the terrific heat, blackening sod. Orange and white and yellow filled their vision, the salamander snake hissing smugly.

"Blizzaga!" a noble voice in the crackling evil boomed, echoing with dissonance in all of their minds. A white, whipping wind filled the cavern. A blizzard raged now, blasting away the flames with a burning cold burning, branding the snake's mind with white heat.

Noctis and Stella cowered closer together, the blue-haired boy attempting to catch a glimpse of their savior.

Green eyes caught topaz as a white-haired boy fluttered down adroitly from above, landing gracefully. Dressed in robes of Tenebrae's colors, the flapping of fabric landed next to Noctis. Ravus bent down and gently caressed the trembling younger boy's face in reassurance. He mouthed something inaudible in the whipping winds and proceeded to carry on the fight. Noctis watched in shocked wonder, hugging Stella closer, whispering wishes of safety to the older boy. He could hear Stella weakly whisper the white-haired boy's name.

The snake hissed defiantly, faltering at the sight of the jeweled, gleaming gold broadsword that Ravus held. His knee-high boots scuffed as he parried the head of the snake that weakly attempted to bash Ravus in. Mismatched eyes glared feral fury at the snake which was darting in pondering uncertainty, unsure of how to strike next. Not choosing to wait, Ravus high, spinning like a top, sword arm outstretched with the metal appendage. Metal tore through scale, flesh, and bone, blood spurting from the salamander's neck. A piercing sound blared from the snake and rocked the room, causing it to tremble, pebbles and dirt raining down.

Ravus broke into a sprint, clutching the sword with both hands. Jabbing it into the snake's side, he tore through rib bones and flesh, sword as hard as diamonds, which it was. Spurting blood like a bursting dam bled in the wake of the now crimson sword, Ravus almost making it some around full circle. The snake's head was collapsed into the ground, no longer holding the strength or will to keep it aloft. Fearful eyes trained upon Ravus, blood seeping from its mouth, the snake quietly awaited its fate.

Ravus sauntered up to it, gently touching the junction where the head was joined the rest of its body. Suddenly, he screamed in pure hatred, bearing upon the beast's neck with oppressive metallic force. Ravus jammed hack after hack, getting half a meter down with each blow. A sick, burbling sound bubbled up and blood splattered Ravus's fearsome face. Bringing it down with malevolent finality, the snake was decapitated and bleeding slowly. It was dead.

Ravus regained his patent clam, walking over to Noctis. Noct began trembling violently, holding an unconscious Stella with suffocating force. His eyes wide open in terror; he was more horrified and fearful of his friend than ever before. Noctis scuffed backwards, Stella on his lap, robes grating open as he scooted backwards. Ravus now terrified him. He was trembling and shivering in the sick mixture of soil, snow and blood, looking ready to rave like a madman.

Ravus finally reached his friend, thrusting his sword into the charred and frozen loam, breath clouding and misting in the now cold air. Noctis shook his head in mad refusal, not wanting for Ravus to come any closer. Hurt and sadness filled the white-haired boy's eyes and he stooped downwards to look at his shivering best friend.

Engulfing him in a tight embrace, awkwardly avoiding his little sister, Ravus held his friend close. Noct's face was buried in his shoulders, his back held by bleeding hands. Ravus used his free hand to stroke Noctis's hair, calming the terrified boy.

"Hey, it's okay, Noct. You and Stella are safe now…"

Tears began flowing quickly down Noctis's cheeks, staining them as they had Stella's not too long ago. One hand held Stella close; Noct used the other to return Ravus's embrace.

If this was but a sampling of their destinies, what was yet to come?

Noctis blacked out before another thought could escape across his mind.

* * *

 

“Noct, are you awake?”

The prince stirred from his doze within a darkened room quartered near the treaty room they were encamped within, bathed in a murky darkness Noctis had retreated into to afford some rest before the final battle for their lives begun. Whatever meager light shone from the thin, florescent rods encompassing a ring of ornate thrones reflected from Ignis’ glasses, the prince blearily regarding him.

“You ready to get our revenge?” Noctis asked from the blue, hauling himself upwards by the armrests and beginning his trek from the room to the vestibule that would lead him out.

Ignis lingered, turning to Noctis’ retreating back and rejoining with, “Indeed; a hundred times over.”

Grimly setting his jaw and clenching his fists, Noctis proceeded into the light where the battle was due to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: So as we’re seeing, I’m trying to kick out as many of those ideas that came from trailers alone pretty early on, and I think I’ve got a set course that’ll be very fun to see played out. I’m not sure how long future chapter will be, but as is typical of me, expect anything from 2-5k that might vary a lot. This update was a little unusual in its length, but hopefully it wasn’t too overwhelming of a read! I definitely had fun writing this, though. Action is always my enormous bias and I had way too much fun connecting the dots with Noctis’ fight scenes between him, Ravus, the MT’s, and Stella, honestly.
> 
> Anyway, can’t wait until next time!
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	5. Struck Out of Silence

( **Warning(s]** : M, major character death, gory action scenes]

 

* * *

 

  “Noct, what are you looking at?”

 

  Noctis was immobile from his sentry at a gaping egress that mortar fire had perforated through one of the walls the led into the crystal chamber, eyes narrowed and arms folded as he leaned against the frame of one of the windows, his reflection projecting his angered mien upon the glassy surface. Trained below, upon the Citadel steps did the figures of Ardyn, Iedolas, Verstael, Ravus, and several others whom were undoubtedly traitors and stood like the winged formation of migrating birds. Twirling his umbrella with a light sense of gaiety, Ardyn suddenly angled it so he’d have a view aloft, bronzed eyes meeting those of the prince for a long moment.

 

  “ _Traitors,_ ” Noctis answered stormily, nails digging into his biceps until red crescent imprints were left behind. Ignis flashed his gaze over to Noctis, then inched near the window to see Ardyn himself bowing smugly for them to see. The gangway of one of Niflheim’s intact airships opened for them to disembark, all entering and readying to depart. “Morons who think they’ve won! Like hell I’m gonna let them take Insomnia! Not my home!” Noctis’ voice reverberated raucously, even the crystal silent in reply.

 

  Ignis remained silent as the echoes of Noctis’ voice waned away, glancing at Noctis pointedly. “Noct, we can’t stay here. His Majesty told us not to—“

 

  “So what, we’re running? Give me a break, Specs! I’m not running with my tail between my legs!”

 

  The adviser sighed deeply, placing a hand on Noctis’ shoulder that caused the prince to flinch sharply, eyes angry and bewildered. As his initial indigence ebbed away, his look seemed to soften somberly on his friend. One who was alive. “Noct, I believe it would be best if we took on the empire in less...conventional means. I believe the king also sees reason in this. Think less of it as an escape and more the beginning of our vendetta against them,” Ignis reasoned, level and sincere.

 

  The guilt at having lashed out at Ignis weighed him, a burgeoning paranoia measuring the reality of how he couldn’t afford alienating anyone else, no matter how spurious the circumstance. Ignis just wasn’t someone he could afford to lose. Sighing deeply, the younger murmured, “...Dad doesn’t have much time. Once we launch this final assault, that’ll be it. ...You hear anything from Nyx or Crowe?”

 

  A small, wan smile graced Ignis’ countenance at the assurance of faith before deadpanning again. “I believe Miss Altius and a certain Libertus conducted a search of some promising areas. We have reason to believe they plan upon unleashing daemons into the city.”

 

  “A WEAPON. I think it was called the Diamond WEAPON; the thing Nyx mentioned earlier,” Noctis supplemented, brows furrowing deeply.

 

  “It will be extremely difficult to take down. Not without the Old Wall.”

 

  Noctis’ gaze darkened and his shoulders sagged, letting it lift again to the crystal that had been the source of his family’s power for eons. “...I know.” However, he drew closer to the crystal, splaying his palm on its cool, glassy surface. “I think we should move it. Take it with us. Put some dummy in here or something.”

 

  Ignis snapped his fingers in epiphany, gaze intense with turning thoughts. “Excellent idea, Noct! There’s a museum not a block from here with a replica. Should we move it in here, and take the crystal from the city, they shan’t have it!”

 

  “Alright, we’ve got a plan. Let’s move, Ignis.”

 

* * *

 

  Within the hour was their plan enacted with relatively little struggle, the foremost parts of the Citadel and nearest vicinity expunged of MT’s or their legions of daemons, even though everyone knew the lull was transient at best. It was to Crowe Altius and a few remaining council members whom agreed to journey with her outside the capital where they’d be safe and relatively secure until the others could rejoin with them.

 

  The dummy crystal was situated perfectly, a few cast spells adding to its realism of presence, differences only those connected to its power or those of the Lucis line would be able to detect, and as it stood, those numbers were narrowing by the hours themselves. Noctis remained almost glued to his father’s side, reiterating their battle plan and speaking of assurances, of what was to come following it.

 

  A collective rush of adrenaline spiked as soon as Nyx, whom had been charged with vigil, sprinted into the throne room and skidded to a halt, everyone at rest in the upper galleries honing upon him collectively. “Your Majesty,” he addressed Regis directly, “they’re here! Saw the same type of smog as before. It’ll only be a few minutes till they make landfall.”

 

  Regis rose from the throne, walking unassisted thanks to the temporary healing energies afforded him by the ring. “Come, everyone, we must be go at once. Now is the hour we fight for our city, our home, and our freedom,” Regis declared, Noctis feeling a swell of pride in his chest as he tailed closely behind his father.

 

  “I’m fighting with you, Dad. Don’t even think about sending me off to fight somewhere else!” The king halted in his ground-eating strides for a long moment, eyes shining as Noctis all but approached him and engulfed him in a hug, burying his face against the man’s shoulder in a profoundly strong display of the immeasurable love between father and son. Regis returned it without falter, everyone falling into a pall of silence as emotion tightened in their chests.

 

  “I’m so proud of you, Noctis,” Regis murmured so only the boy could hear. “You will be a fine king. ...I love you.”

 

  “I love you, too, Dad,” Noctis rasped throatily, feeling the growing precedence to fight looming higher over their heads. Both men withdrew after a long moment, Noctis scouring any fledgling tears away. He had to be strong. Even though no one was deluded to the outcome, mourning couldn’t occur at the present. Not when so many factors hung in the air.

 

  Striding out side by side, they proceeded from the Citadel and down the same steps their occupiers had taken, the air outside suddenly feeling heavier, an element of great evil burdening it. “Over there!” Nyx shouted as he pointed towards the horizon, everyone else following its direction. There, a towering behemoth of thick, obfuscating smog roiled at least half a mile high, perhaps shy of that, but no less imposing in height and sheer power. “There’s the big ugly we’re gonna take down.”

 

  “Not alone,” Regis interjected, drawing his sword proudly and with a flourish, they ready to meet on the field of war. Noctis stood alongside Prompto and Ignis, both men somber despite Prompto’s own penchant for comic outbursts. Nyx was nearby, headed by Regis—comprising their regiment whilst the others were far away with the crystal, or already in the streets preparing to evacuate.

 

  “Yeah,” Noctis replied in agreement with his father, both men smiling at each other. “You gonna invoke the Old Wall?”

 

  “It already is invoked, Noctis. We must merely wait for the WEAPON to approach their positions, and it won’t be long. Not at all,” Regis replied, directing the reply to Noctis.

 

  However, the estimation had been wrong. From their flank did several Niflheim airships skirt the periphery of the Citadel, hawking upon the crystal chamber that had been supplanted by the dummy crystal. Noctis coldly felt a trickle of realization that it had been good for him to suggest the idea, to transport the crystal through the subway tunnels they’d fought tooth and nail to clear. That is, Crowe and her team. Regis saw where Noctis’ gaze traveled, and ordered, “Noctis, please dispatch them with Nyx. It will be far easier if we do not have them to contend with.”

 

  “Got it! Nyx, take one of my swords—let’s go!” Nyx and Noctis stood side by side, the glaive and prince hurling the weapons with expert timing and hurtled themselves upon on the airships’ decks, immediately met with MT’s that sprang catlike to where both men were above the whip and billow of the wind high above.

 

  “I’ll take these on the left, Highness. Think you can handle it?” Nyx quipped whilst slicing the arm clean from the MT nearest them, glancing at the prince.

 

  Noctis’ eyes took on their lethal scarlet glow, the tips of his fingers glowing their cobalt hue as the Armiger manifested, a ferocity present that the very air seemed to undulate with. “Go,” Noctis clipped coldly, Nyx regarding him oddly before warping away in a trail of sparks and blackened ashes.

 

  With a loud cry did Noctis smite his hand down, grabbing his machine blade and revving it whilst the rest of his arsenal proceeded to tear through hull of the airship, terrifying screeching elicited whilst explosions clocked successively, the blades moving in unison like a deadly pendulum. They cleaved through metal, another half diverting to make deadly work of the ship nearest them. Bullets flew past his person, some striking home, but in grateful places that weren’t lethal to be struck. MT’s within scrambled to where the prince was, from corrugated orifices of the rapidly destabilizing airship as it made its plummet.

 

  The prince felt utterly unstoppable.

 

  Suspended within the very air, Noctis sped towards the epicenter of the airships, spying which one to keep predominantly intact that Nyx was furiously engaged in combat upon. Mortar fire reeled past him, spherical clouds spanning in the wake of fruitless impact. His swords engaged in a deadly dance, a ring that encompassed him like a planetary radius, tearing through the port of one, decimating its engines as the prince unleashed a volley of Firaga upon another that roasted those unfortunately inside. Vitriol commanded him to imagine the recently fled posse of traitors and Niflheim’s tyrants present in these airships, which wrought Noctis’ fury upon them to an even greater magnitude.

 

  An explosion of finality rocked through the last three, Nyx having escaped in time whilst the last of their quandary was sundered and smote the streets below with cacophonous crashes, the prince breathing hard as exertion finally reached him as the weapons faded away.

 

  However, vertigo suddenly overtook him as the recoil of the energy expended seemed to collapse in on him. Plummeting like a dropped stone, the prince’s vision swirled to black and blurred, incohesive and unreal.

 

  “Hey, Noctis!” Nyx bellowed from below, cursing as he hurled his kukri towards the rapidly descending prince, warping to him in a rush of electrified cinders and capturing him in his arms. Letting loose his hand briefly, the kukri was chucked to the ground and grip reproduced before the pair manifested again in a rush of majick.

 

  Noctis began hacking consciously from the smog, coughing hard whilst Nyx squatted, freeing his grip on Noctis’ legs but keeping it secured around the coughing prince’s soldiers. “Hey, hey, you’re alright, princess. Lucky I was there to save your ass,” Nyx quipped with a cheeky smirk, Noctis beginning to chuckle through his coughing. “And you’re heavier than you look, too.”

 

  “Oh, so _now_ I’m the princess? Good to know my knight in shining armor was there,” Noctis japed with a humored grin, lurching forwards as he attempted to stand despite Nyx keeping a steady hand on him. Nyx clapped him on the back affectionately, Noctis coughing the last of it and chuckling. Both men stood again, the vertigo only just beginning to subside.

 

  “Oughtta be careful with the Armiger, prince. Takes a lot out of you if you aren’t used to it.”

 

  Noctis sighed, shaking his head. “We don’t have that luxury. Those airships were just the beginning, and we still have the WEAPON to square off with.”

 

  The glaive sighed and rested his forearm on Noctis’ shoulder, the prince regarding him enigmatically. “Last thing we need is another Lucian son dead because of the Nifs. Just...be careful, alright?”

 

  The prince gazed sidelong, then allowing it to soften on Nyx, smile just as gentle despite the chaos and turmoil still unfolding around them. “I dunno, I don’t feel that worried. You’re here, aren’t you?”

 

  Nyx scoffed in amusement and jutted his jaw, fighting to stave away a smile, and poorly. “Yeah, guess I am. Heroes are in short supply anymore, aren’t they?”

 

  Regis alighted to both men, dispelling the jocular mien for one of grave seriousness, Noctis the first to reach him. “We’ve managed to clear away some infantries, hopefully meaning for easier escape for Lucians who wish to,” the king expounded, seeming enlivened despite the toll such expenditure of power was likely taking on the King. “It will be any moment now. Nyx Ulric, I ask you locate Ignis and Prompto and help them stave away battalions that will be coming. Noctis—you’ll be coming with me. We’ll face the WEAPON alongside the kings of old.”

 

  Nyx saluted to Regis, Noctis feeling his heart climb into his throat, only to be met with the reassuring, warm gaze of his father. “I saw you, Noctis. I can’t imagine a better place for you to fight than at my side.”

 

  The prince broke into an almost heartbreaking smile, even as the threat of the WEAPON was so near, the air becoming heated with resolution of the Lucians’ own. “Let’s go, Dad. We’ll take it down, you’ll see.”

 

  In all his twenty years of being alive, the prince had never felt closer to his father than he did now. From the Citadel did they both mount a motorcycle, Noctis left to drive it whilst Regis kept a firm hold on Noctis’ shoulders for support. They sped through the streets, Regis utilizing his magic to incinerate MT’s with wide, crackling swaths of lightning whilst Protect guarded their rear and fore, Noctis revving the engine as they sharply banked a corner, wind and adrenaline howling within and without his veins. It wasn’t until the sky became profusely blotted by a torrentially tall wall of smog and swirling heat that Noctis braked sharply, the motorbike lurching whilst it skidded to a rough halt.

 

  Both alighting from the motorcycle between the arrays of skyscrapers, Regis placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Are you ready, Noctis?” the monarch almost asked too softly, almost inaudibly. Noctis inhaled deeply, nodding. Almost seeming synchronized, their eyes met in gazes of furious scarlet, Noctis unable to help the wicked smirk as the power of the Armiger resonated sharply in them both. They seemed to move as one mind, the Ring of the Lucii glowing apparent on Regis’ ring finger.

 

  With a crystalline shatter did their cobalt Armiger manifest in a lazily revolving ring about them, before it seemed to quicken and intensify. From behind, two of the Old Wall calamitously charged through the impediments of the skyscrapers and reigned debris and shrapnel terrifically around them, harmlessly falling past the Lucians whilst their weapons seemed to instinctively parry and deflect that which could’ve sundered them both.

 

  Rising slowly, in tandem did they both hurl their primary swords into the very sky, warping in a rush that revealed the very countenance of the Diamond WEAPON, the skyward behemoth cresting the very line of clouds in its impressive stature, Noctis and his father suspended midair. From that point was where the two diverged, Noctis soaring to his left and roaring as he hurdled towards the WEAPON, blades careening with deadly, exacting force through the smog that blistered through the tough plating on its skull, the daemon screeching bloody murder whilst they dug deeper through and impaled through, a sadistic attack.

 

  Caterwauling like a banshee, the clouds dispersed in an almighty rush whilst its large extrusion pinned him beneath, Noctis wide-eyed as it smote the very ground beneath. Cratered deeply beneath its palm, Protect cast at a near last minute was all that kept debris, dust, and rubble from crushing him bodily. Coughing deeply, the prince snarled in his indigence as the swords gored through the palm, but it was only until the Knight of the Round that had followed him bludgeoned the arm away and impaled the WEAPON through its breast plating with its sword did it desist. The behemoth screeched, the batholiths merged to its shoulders cleft open to piths of an inferno and unleashed a furious salvo of projectiles into the very sky.

 

  “Fuck—“ Noctis swore beneath his breath as he alighted into the air again, sailing to the height he’d been previously as the missiles careened blindly towards him, Noctis wielding his blade as he cut through what he could, several of his blades cutting those headed towards him asunder. The Knight closest to him was grappling manfully with the WEAPON, massive plumes of dust dispelling from the ground that skidded at their feet from such powerful attrition. Cussing again, it seemed as though the last of it had been cut asunder or at least left to detonate harmlessly past him, the prince watching as Regis was attacking through the armored batholiths, searching for weaknesses.

 

  Settling on the shoulder of the Knight, Noctis held both hands out as he unleashed a torrential Blizzaga to slam into the WEAPON’S carapace, a mantle of frosted achroma freezing its vision and blinding it for what would prove to be an invaluable moment. As he did, Regis took advantage and flew before him, conducting an enormous charge of energy as the clouds roiled overhead, lightning crackling brightly in their undersides whilst Regis held his hand up before lashing it down, the lightning culminating into a deadly point and lancing brutally through the WEAPON, both Knights mounting an assault from the fore and back as their blades gored through the daemon, even as infernal energies were conducted to heal it through the assault, though both men knew it was being worn down.

 

  “Almost there, old man!” Noctis shouted as he drifted from the shoulder of his Knight and lingered near his father, the man smirking at his son.

 

  “Old, am I? Because I seem to be pulling my weight quite a bit more, Noctis,” he jested with a cheery twinkle in his eye. To this, Noctis grinned at the challenge, scanning the surrounding area. Gathering his weapons into a web of deadly symmetry, hurdling towards the WEAPON did he dive straight into the healing wind hole that gaped through its chest cavity, Regis shouting an advisory not to. Too smug to care, from within did the prince bring his blades to flail through searing, incinerating flesh, eyes of crimson burning so heatedly they seemed like beacons within their sockets.

 

  Flesh burbled sickly and the exposure was nauseating, highly corrosive acids spilling over him, but only by virtue of the barriers that kept it from harming him. The weapons slashed brutally through internal organs, blessed light greatly eroding the rot and scourged flesh. The points of his blades met like a drill head, revolutions blisteringly fast as Noctis shouted, driving through the wall of flesh that had healed even through his brutal assault. Viscera expelled with massive pressure, Noctis emerging into the world only before sundering through again, impaling the WEAPON as many times as he could. The chest cavity seemed all but hulled of its internal organs, the WEAPON greatly staggered. Upon one knee was it forced, the dissonance from the sonic boom of its fall utterly atmospheric. The enormous, horned pauldrons upon its shoulders that cleaved from its incendiary, projectile of an attack were dulled, batholithic armor displaying no inferno that might indicate a revival.

 

  Noctis absconded to where he could see his father, the Knights nearly stalwart in their attendance, presiding over the sundered WEAPON. “It’s not dead yet,” the prince observed, adrenaline still rushing with conflagration withal his system. Turning to his father, Noctis seemed to wait for his judgment.

 

  “Together,” Regis said with a commanding tone of finality, nearly side to side as their Armiger combined as one, Regis extending his hand that Noctis covered. Scarlet-hued gazes met in unison, nodding.

 

  “Now!” Noctis bellowed as father and son sped towards the WEAPON whilst it was still down, speeding with the blur of a comet scorching through the atmosphere as their arms wound in unison, a massive sword of a kind leading whilst they both raised it in a massive arc, a towering column of silvery blades glancing the firelight of an incinerating city before it cleaved down, Noctis grinning in preemptive victory as the blaze of an outline shone where they’d cut, the Diamond WEAPON falling limp before the cleft split it in twain, falling dead in a massive plume of dust and smoke, nothing left.

 

  Regis seemed uncannily quiet despite the assault, Noctis turning towards him and noticed the veins of magmatic light and ashen texture on his flesh as his Armiger dulled and plunged to the earth alike dead weight, the prince’s eyes widening in alarm before he acted quickly, remembering his own fall. “Dad!” Hooking his arms beneath the junction of his arms and shoulders, the prince grunted beneath his weight. Slowly did they descend, perspiration beading the prince’s brow until his father could come at rest in Noctis’ arms, dust and darkness and wildfire coalescing in a ring all about them. His eyes gradually reverted to their usual cerulean, breathing heavily as he gently shook the king. “Dad? Dad—hey. We did it. It’s dead. …Dad?” When Regis made no motion to stir, Noctis felt a crushing decelerating of the previous emotional high, plummeting into a fathomless grief.

 

  Planting his forehead on Regis’ chest, he perked up when he felt Regis’ chest rise and fall in shallow breaths, eyes wide with a puerile bewilderment. “Noc…tis,” the older man rasped, quivering hand coming to numbly cup his son’s face, chest wracked with coughs as blood pooled his mouth scarlet. Cracking his eyes open, they shone with tears, shedding freely. “I’m so…very proud of you. I’m glad…we fought together…in the end…”

 

  Noctis was agape for a few moments as he heard the king expel a last fitful cough until the exhale was slow, sighed. “Dad?” Regis’ head lolled to the side, eyelids sinking closed. “ _Damn it_ … Dad!” Noctis choked out, embracing the man and holding him close as the prince became wracked with sobs, the noise aside from the crackling, heartless flames.

 

  “Noct?”

 

  Ignis. When he attempted to place a comforting hand on Noctis’ shoulder, the younger male jerked it away, keeping his head bowed. Hovering only, the adviser gradually backed away, but didn’t leave. Instead, the spectacled man genuflected on one knee and bowed his head with as much reverence, silent in his eulogy.

 

  A long moment passed until Noctis was ready, slinging his father’s arm over his shoulders and shouldering the entirety of his weight, until Ignis gently took the other, glancing at Noctis but unable to determine the prince’s expression through the curtain his bangs and fringe afforded.

 

  “We’re gonna bury him.” It was a lone statement, hoarsely murmured by the prince. The younger almost choked out a sob but forced himself to remain composed, Ignis seeing several tears steal down Noctis’ cheeks. “We’re not leaving until we do!”

 

  “Of course, Your Highness. Of course we will,” Ignis replied throatily, chest tight. And why wouldn’t it be? They had too many of their dead to bury yet.

 

  How long a journey it would be to come.

 

* * *

 

  When they returned to the Citadel, destruction had been extolled rampantly. The dead of Lucis and the Magitek littered the streets profusely, a moon of growing crimson suspended in a sky of ash and smog, eerily lit. The Citadel alone was like a lunar monument, struck silver against the relief of flames and bleak sorrow. Within, the last funerasl ceremony that would be conducted for a great time yet was underway, on part of those remaining councilmen, Ignis, Prompto, Noctis, Nyx, and several faceless others.

 

  Within the meeting room where the long table was located had been converted to a temporary catafalque donned with white cloth, Regis’ body having been cleansed and dressed in new kingly armaments, seeming as though he were only asleep. In the name of Etros was the funeral conducted, Ignis leading it whilst Noctis and Prompto sat with Nyx, all with their heads bowed.

 

  Maybe this was a flagrant waste of time; maybe they should’ve evacuated a long time ago. The funeral concluded and the four men acted as pall bearers through the Lucian tombs, carrying Regis’ coffin through the darkened depths where he would join his ancestors before him. Their walk was somber, and devoid of light. No one felt compelled to break the silence when mournfulness permeated it, instead. Noctis was stonily composed, holding every emotion to be had behind a thick wall.

 

  When the coffin had been lowered inside Regis’ tomb—one that had been constructed over a decade ago—and magic used to bring the cover with a relief of Regis’ reposing form sculpted from obsidian marble left to bear an eternal slumber.

 

  “He..was a great man,” Prompto said after a long, pregnant pause. Noctis never looked once at him despite the blond’s imploring blue eyes upon him, the gunman’s shoulders sagging with a sigh.

 

  “The king would want us to keep pushing forth. Noct—what would you have us do?” Ignis interjected after a long, reflective moment. Enough as it was when the adviser knew better than to dawdle for anything.

 

  “We should…” Noctis said after a long moment, rising from his genuflection, “…walk tall.” The words weighed heavily upon them, Noctis turning when he felt Nyx place a hand on his shoulder. The words Regis had told him once, hardly long ago.

 

  “Already are, Highness. You just gotta keep doing that,” the glaive said with a briefly quirked smile, patting it soundly. Noctis managed a smile of his own, nudging into Nyx’s shoulder. Even if he couldn’t admit it outright, through the thoroughly pervasive sadness, this was needed. When it could be, when it would be.

 

  “Let us discuss this elsewhere. Among the dead is hardly appropriate,” Ignis broke in with a stern, nearly reproachful look. One Noctis spitefully disregarded. His father wouldn’t want him consumed in a vat of sorrow and self-pity, so why should he be constantly solemn? Even here, in the wake of such an impromptu funeral.

 

  The mausoleum was eventually sealed with magic they hoped would hold against any of Niflheim’s machinations, Noctis striding up a long, ascending stairwell with Nyx at his side. It had been during the arrangements for Regis’ funeral that Noctis had spirited away the ring, an artifact rightfully his. After seeing the weight of its power, of what it expended, it didn’t feel right to don. Not yet. Not when it had adorned his father’s finger only hours before. It was by the chain that had threaded through it, hanging there to sear hot and holy against his flesh—it were as if it were alive. Against his chest it seemed to scorch, even if Noctis hardly reacted to it.

 

  “…You’re coming with us, right, Nyx?” Noctis asked suddenly, gaze imploring upon the older man, even if he didn’t intend for it to be.

 

  Everyone was exhausted. A night of war, a war gaining a tide it hadn’t before—Nyx didn’t know if there was anything for him here anymore. Not when Galahd was conquered and Noctis was arraigned to pit himself against the very empire that had brought its ruination in the first place. The glaive was quiet for a long moment, visage appearing withdrawn, steps ceased upon the stair. “I’m a Kingsglaive. My job’s to protect the king, his family, his kingdom—at the cost of my life,” Nyx recited, chuffing slightly. “For hearth and home. ‘sides, I owe on to your old man. Kinda wouldn’t make sense to turn tail now, right, Highness?”

 

  “Noct,” the prince corrected, Nyx switching his gaze to the shorter male. “Look, if we’re gonna be buddy-buddy on the road, might as well drop the formalities. …Besides, I technically don’t have a kingdom. Not now, at least.”

 

  “Alright, Noct. But, y’know we’re gonna get it back, right? Bring the hammer down where it hurts and shit.”

 

  Noctis was quiet for a long moment, the very air seeming to darken around him. Striding ahead a few stairs, the prince suddenly stopped. The air encompassing him was heavy and grim, saturated in vengeance.

 

  “…More than that. I want to wipe them off the _map_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: In case maybe it wasn’t evident before, I think what I was really going for here was closure for Noctis and Regis. The kind we didn’t really get in game. While I sorta demoted Nyx’s prominence in the city battle royale, with him and Crowe joining the Chocobros, he’ll be having a much heavier hand in the events to come. That, and a few other ladies will be joining them, which I think will be good. Since the game and movie…and even the anime didn’t really focus on them as much as they could’ve. 
> 
> In terms of shipping, well—I just decided to fuck it. While Ardynoct will occur the most—with its inclusion being a lot different than what I see in fanon—I decided I’m really not against dropping hints to outright pairing Noctis with others in the story. Because, why not? I’m a dirty multishipper anyways.
> 
> Oh, and Ardyn? Boy, his story will sure throw you all in for a loop. As I said, he’s not going to be handled gently, so he may as well at as boastful as he can lmao.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	6. Everyone On the Run

( **Warning(s]** : T, none]

 

* * *

 

“Hey, prince, you up? There’s grub with your name on it.”

 

How long had it been, anyways? Days blurred into longer days, becoming distinct from nights the further they were from Insomnia. A cool breeze hushed against the prince’s forehead, Noctis’ brow crinkling as he squeezed his eyes shut from the sun cresting the horizon, tightly guarded against the intrusion he was thoroughly unused to. In the copse of trees they had taken refuge in, shade sharpened the dappled sunlight Noctis held a hand as a visor against, squinting into something so enlivening, so needed. Mouth drawn into a neutral line, meditatively did he lose himself among the undulating umbrage. Noctis curled his knees to his chest and absently watched as the others huddled in a circle, devouring what rations they could. Nyx, Crowe, Ignis, Prompto, and himself. ...For some reason, it made him feel emptier than he cared to admit.

 

“You gonna eat, Noctis? It’ll get cold,” Crowe called over her shoulder at him, everyone’s gazes seeming to follow hers critically. Out of them, Ignis was the most sympathetic, even though both their gazes held about as much light as a dead fish. When their eyes met, even Noctis was dully startled by how it was like looking into a mirror.

 

“Perhaps his highness will acquire an appetite as the day unfolds,” Ignis stated mutely, almost too quiet to be heard. The brunet returned to busily dishing out portions to those who required it, almost speaking around or over Noctis. It drew an awkward pall of silence over the group.

 

There was a silent accession among them, in all except Prompto who looked conflicted between leaving Noct alone and his imbued sense of compassion for his best friend. Departing from them, Prompto proffered a fresh, hot cup of Cup Noodle he’d acquired for him, addled by a wan smile as he plopped down next to the prince.

 

“I’m...really not that hungry, Prompto,” Noctis refused in an unsteady monotone, unable to even force a smile.

 

He knew. Even without saying anything, Prompto knew. And how wouldn’t he? They’d been best friends since high school, something that just reared that sort of intuition. Regis. Gladio—even Clarus. His home, his birthright. Everything gone within a night. Noctis set his gaze dully on the ground, a hand absently tugging and tearing free handfuls of grass, jaw tensed and temple throbbing. He wanted to mourn. By the Six, he did. But, he couldn’t. Now just wasn’t the time, despite how bitterly his lower lip worried and eyes shone, gaze becoming blurry—

 

As shakily as it’d begun did it fall, becoming engulfed by something warm and gold and blue, Noctis burying his face into the column of Prompto’s neck and feeling his hands cling like talons to Prompto’s vest, gripping so tightly it were as though he could tear through the material.

 

Prompto was fine with this. Through the silent sobs, he’d remain. For Noctis.

 

* * *

 

“So, do we actually have a plan, or are we just winging it? You can’t really take on an empire with the wool over your eyes.”

 

Crowe’s point was poignant among the group, pacing in a small circle with her arms folded as her earthy brown eyes studied them all with a hard expression, each attending to various duties throughout the camp, though in earshot of one another. She cocked a hip, mien becoming mildly annoyed. If mild was a euphemistic way of putting it. “Are any of you actually listening?” she demanded with a guffaw, the hand on her hip becoming a fist.

 

“Don’t worry, Altius, everyone’s listening. Just let us do a little brainstorming, alright?” Nyx placated with a half-cocked smirk, halfway paused between the shirt he was mending with a blunt needle and threadbare string. All scavenged, as only they could. It was too risky to show their faces in town—any town. Even in the fairly remote Duscae, in the Nebulawood where they’d made camp, they still had to keep their guard up. Their posse wasn’t exactly microscopic, after all.

 

“I believe we ought listen to the radio, at the very least. Or acquire a newspaper. We cannot ascertain our enemy’s movements if we do not have at least an idea of what they have accomplished,” Ignis interjected reasonably, earning a slow nod from Crowe. Though Ignis had been quieter than usual, at the very least he had good stratagem to espouse for them all.

 

Noctis came forth with a solar-powered radio, thankfully small. They having destroyed and abandoned their phones back in Insomnia, to prevent tracking, save for a shortwave walkie-talkie that kept them in contact with the other surviving, trusted glaives whom were guarding the Crystal in a fortified location only they knew about. Not even a car or motorbike had been taken, all knowing how poor an idea it would bode in them all.

 

Tuning it to a station he remembered to be mainly news, when the burst of static cleared did they all grow intensely rapt with the words being said, as if some cruel god’s rhapsody.

 

“ _..._ _And today marks a historical day, indeed, for the people of Lucis! After a terrorist attack upon the Lucian capital by suspected anarchists, and the death of the last Lucian king grieved many within Insomnia, there is hope! After an unexpected daemon attack by these same terrorists and the king’s noble sacrifice, the empire of Niflheim has gratefully offered their assistance and temporary aid to see Lucis stabilized until more investigating can be conducted on the disappearance of the late King Regis’ son, Noctis Lucis Caelum, and punitively restored_ _as his successor_ _. Though it has been a trying month since the attack—_ “

 

“ **JUST SHUT IT OFF.** ”

 

A collective shock fell on the group as all eyes trained to Noctis, the prince quivering as his hands curled into blanched fists. “Just shut it off,” he reiterated in a subdued hiss, shaking with rage. Prompto was the first to act, hastily switching it off in a garbled burst of static. A brooding cloud settled over Noctis, bangs concealing his face save for the hard line his lips were pursed into.

 

Still quivering, it was Ignis who splayed a comforting hand on his back, the prince flinching but not harshly rebuking the adviser for his efforts. “Noct, I believe there is something to gain from this. We must move forward if there is any hope of succoring the empire from what it intends to do...to all of us.”

 

Noctis raised his gaze, hard but not tear-streaked as it’d been just hours before. A face wouldn’t stop haunting his mind, the shape of his enmity and hate and indignation against the smugness and gloating he always saw upon the man’s countenance. But, he was real and alive and Noctis wished every violent ideation he could upon him, the antithesis of a prayer. “Fine, you want a plan so badly? I say we hold their fucking Chancellor hostage and see how he likes being put on the fucking spot. Make Iedolas grovel to get him back.”

 

“Look, as much as I like the idea of that, too, it’s us against an entire empire. We don’t even have a place to keep the guy even if we could pull this off,” Crowe interjected dubiously, arms folded and glancing at Nyx who’d been dutifully silent, his station difficult to wear away even in these circumstances.

 

“Doesn’t mean it can’t happen. What’s one guy when we fortified an entire city, just the little rag tag team that we’ve got? Sure, it’d be tough, but maybe not impossible.” At Nyx’s vote of confidence, Noctis glanced at the glaive gratefully, managing a shadow of a smile that Nyx returned with a wink. “We’ll make it work somehow. I mean, if we can keep the Crystal away from them, don’t see why this would be off the table, too.”

 

“Actually, I might...know something that could help.” All eyes turned to Prompto’s shy intervention, the blond having raised a finger halfway to gain their attention. Ranging his eyes between those that were upon them now, Prompto reached into his vest where he pulled a tightly wadded newspaper from his lapel pocket and methodically unfurled it, still heavily wrinkled but readable. Flipping to the page of mention, he used his hand to iron it out some on against a tree trunk before he began to orate: “Okay, something something that’s basically a week from today, alright! ‘ _What is being heralded as the grandest ball in Lucian history since Mors Lucis Caelum’s_ _coronation ball_ _is prepped to take place at the Citadel Grand Ballroom & Venue with the attendance of Chancellor Izunia, General Titus Drautos of the Lucian Armed Forces, and the recently instated Cancellarii Niveus Anima of Lucis. Appropriately dubbed the Insomnian Disaster Relief Ball, this charity event staged by Chancellor Izunia himself hopes to restore Lucian faith and confidence in not only themselves, but in Niflheim’s earnest hopes to bring lasting peace and restor_ _ing_ _the Lucian heir, tragically missing, back to his throne. Even so, many are abuzz with excitement at what will promise to be a star-studded event for all to see._ ’ Huh, hard to believe roadside litter could turn this up.”

 

Noctis folded his arms thoughtfully, eyes having been downcast through the reading before they glanced up again. The smile that spanned his features was energized, Prompto knowing that look; it was smugness at the trump card in their hand. “They want me there. This article, the whole event—it’s a bait and hook. God, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m almost flattered they think I’m this dumb.” The prince laughed, almost beside himself at how easily the next leg of their plan was unfolding.

 

“I wouldn’t believe we have the upper hand so easily, Noct. Chancellor Izunia did not ascend to his role without good reason. He is a man of his merit, and we must be on our guard and assume he is several steps ahead of us. If this is meant to instill you with an inordinate amount of audaciousness, I believe it is fair to assume it is but one of the outcomes he preemptively believes to occur. I would not put it past us to assume he also considered the notion of us wishing to use him as a bartering chip for Insomnia,” Ignis said with a weighted voice, gazing at everyone present intently.

 

Though Noctis looked somewhat deflated by Ignis’ rationale, he was right. Ignis rarely wasn’t. “You got a point there, Iggy. But we still have time. Hell, we have a whole week,” Nyx replied, standing closer to Noctis. looming over the shorter male.

 

Just as Noctis was going to quip something in on Nyx’s behalf, something caught his eye in the periphery. Taken aback in disbelief, Umbra was seated on his haunches next to a woman distantly observing with her back to the group, a head of long, ebony hair as distinct as the black and white-trimmed dress, overcoat, and white shawl she wore. “...Gentiana?” Noctis murmured in disbelief before setting off at a trot towards her, everyone else mystified.

 

“My King, I come bearing news urgent to your cause,” the woman greeted, her eyes enigmatically closed as they always seemed to be. Nearing the prince, Gentiana raised a partially gloved hand and pressed it to the male’s sternum, where the Ring of the Lucii rested against his breast, flinching when he felt it heat intensely to her power against his flesh; the same cold-heat felt in the face of a raging blizzard.

 

“Please, tell me! Do you know anything about Stella?” To this the woman silently shook her head, pressing her index finger delicately before her lips. He understood. For whatever reason, it wasn’t the question to ask. Noctis’ teeth grit anxiously, but he nodded tensely in accession.

 

“The ring holds the key to the means you seek. Use it, o’ king, and the Accursed shall be submitted.”

 

Noctis’ brows furrowed, flummoxed by what she meant. Fishing beneath his shirt collar for the point of the chain where the ring lay, he held it on the flat of his palm, cool and dormant than before. The Accursed? Who did she mean? How did this have anything to do with subduing Ardyn? One of the Ring’s powers was that to control daemons, he knew, but there likely wouldn’t by any there. More troubled than what he began as, Noctis lifted his gaze to regard Gentiana again, only to be met with an empty space coolly lingering with a frosty afterthought of her presence.

 

“Uh, hey—Noct? You alright there, buddy?” Prompto suddenly asked of him, tapping Noctis on his shoulder to wheel around with his friend looking confused.

 

“It was Gentiana. She had...some kind of message to tell me,” Noctis explained, having since dropped the ring against his breast again, cool and cold as Gentiana’s presence.

 

“I...guess? I mean, you just sorta took off and stayed here. I mean, there wasn’t anyone else here aside from you, buddy.” Realization dawned on Noctis, wondering: was Gentiana invisible to the rest of them? In his childhood, he remembered he, Ravus, Stella, and Luna could see her. Sometimes, others did, too.

 

“Sorry, it’s nothing.” Prompto and Noctis rejoined the others, they polite enough not to make a topic of Noctis’ recently strange behavior. However, something in him knew that whatever was coming ahead, what he’d gleaned from Gentiana would prove a great boon to them. Though it wouldn’t be for a week, Noctis knew that they couldn’t think of putting it off any longer than it was. There was too much to do, too much they had to arrange before they could even think of executing this wild and ambitious plan.

 

“Let’s get planning. I don’t want to waste another second.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Welp guys, the major story arc I’ve been really looking forward to writing is finally coming! By the next chapter, expect a LOT of interaction between Ardyn and Noctis, as I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for. Thing is, things are going to get really shitty for Ardyn if you haven’t figured it out already, and I’ve got a lot planned with it I intend upon really capitalizing upon by fleshing out Ardyn’s past; in a way that differs from a lot of fanon I’ve seen, but in a way that hopefully is as riveting as it came out in my notes when I did a note-binge the other day. Because Ardyn is going to go through a lot of hell here on out, in all aspects. Because who doesn’t love having the big bad’s ambitions swiped out from under him? Hell knows I do.
> 
> Just some little differences, but don’t expect any road trip vibes the game gave. Personally, I felt it was a little unrealistic for Noctis and the chocobros to be practically flaunting their presence in Nif-held territories, hence the chance with the group more on foot and staying away from towns and the like. Think more The Walking Dead sort of hardballer survivalist deal. Pity Ignis wouldn’t be able to be a gourmand as much or wear spiffy suits in the wild—but hey, I’m mean like that. 
> 
> Also...it’s funny, but publishing this—my grandfather died today. Maybe it’s TMI for you guys, but expect some very POV takes on coping with death. Might make it more realistic, ha.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	7. Kill You Killing Me

( **Warning(s]** : M, mild torture, violence]

* * *

 

When he’d told them, it’d been met with dubiousness, challenging the idea. The Ring of the Lucii, being used to somehow to bait and capture the Chancellor? Perhaps it wasn’t entirely unbelievable. One of Drautos’ orders had been to retrieve it before the attempt had been thwarted wholesale, even though they couldn’t see beyond the limited scope of what it could entail. Noctis ruminated deeply as Gentiana was seated next to them in the luxury car they’d managed to procure by Crowe’s own sense of craftiness, a royally mandated car that made all the more sense for Noctis to arrive in. Clad in a starched suit they’d found at the last minute, the Messenger looked regal herself in a starry black sheath with plunging necklines and back and lacquered high heels, having decided upon revealing herself to the group and to join them as a regular ally—not just a fleeting premonition to inform them every now and again.

 

The woman had leaned over and was idly brushing away dust from his suit, his cleaning up rather rough-shod, as it was for them all. For Crowe and Nyx it meant cleaning their well-worn uniforms, having to break into their old apartments in order to accomplish it. One wouldn’t believe they’d been roughing it in the wild on rations, scavenging, and hunting-gathering for over a month as they had been. Even taking a shower in anything other than lakes and clear streams felt like an acclimated second skin of caked on dust and grime had been scoured away, Noctis amazed by how much he’d missed the sensation of a hot shower.

 

Driving through the streets of Lucis flying Niflheim flags was enough to cause his stomach to turn, even though it’d been announced they’d been doggedly searching for him to replace the provisional government. Though all of them knew it was bullshit, these were two predators seeking to capture each other, only one thinking they were hunting prey. Noctis knew it’d be easy to bullshit a fabricated story of escaping the terrorists as the newspapers had spread. He was still a kid in their eyes, after all, surrounded by people his age. Not seasoned heads of state of the likes of Ardyn or Iedolas.

 

Behind an entourage of cars ahead of them, no one was the wiser as to who he was. All windows were tinted, and while the car was of Lucian make popular with the upper class elite, it was impossible to tell who he was. The car being a rental surely didn’t help matters, the mystique enough to rattle Noctis’ heart at the look of shock he wanted to see on every traitor’s face when he finally did appear.

 

“Steel your heart, my king. Many will be looking for its weaknesses this night,” Gentiana warned as their car was next, the one ahead pulling off. Noctis’ hands felt clammy from anticipation, head hot and a pall of vertigo building in his skull, sending him soaring.

 

“Right,” Noctis grunted, heating up when he felt Gentiana sidle from behind, their flanks pressed intimately close. He could scent the jasmine the lingered on her skin, of the pale flora that adorned her black, high ponytail that brushed by the nape of his neck. She chortled lowly in amusement, looping her arm through Noctis’ so they could disembark together. The prince swallowed thickly, but willed himself to ignore the immortal’s voluptuous form pressing almost sultrily into his own.

 

Nyx braked the car, chuckling in amusement at the pair before he exited the driver’s seat, Crowe doing the same. In full Kingsglaive regalia did it draw a blinding profusion of flashing bulbs, Noctis wondering how the hell he’d escape without being dazzled. Nyx opened the door whilst Crowe stood parallel to Nyx, both glaives in a protective formation. Gulping down the last of his trepidation was it swiftly replaced with a smug adrenaline, pulling Gentiana out with him on looped arms as he smirked to the cameras, absolutely gloating whilst even Gentiana’s mysterious airs took on a seductive quality as she remained at Noctis’ hip, practically.

 

Reporters surged against the cordoned rope lines, Noctis allowing his easiest smile to settle, degrees from being a smirk. Behind and ahead of them, Nyx and Crowe battled away the more insistent, until the foyer gave them air to breathe, away from the suffocating crush of the paparazzi. “You guys hanging in alright over there?” Noctis joked to Crowe and Nyx, both looking bedraggled, but fine.

 

“You know, if I had known guard duty would’ve been like this, I think I would’ve gotten Libertus to come in my place. Look, my hair was messy enough. I think it got worse, if that is somehow possible,” Crowe rejoined as she raked through a snarl of hair with her fingers, shaking out her voluminous brown mane before piling high atop her head in a makeshift bun. Hardly soiree-worthy, but the little snubs were all that they were aiming for.

 

“Careful, Crowe. I think your hair is stealing the rep behind your name away,” Nyx simpered as he joined the fellow glaive’s side, ribbing her in good nature. However, as their joshing died down did the roaring din of the party crash into them like a sudden onslaught of high tide. It couldn’t be put off any longer. An usher glowered expectantly at them, likely a Nif. No one had expected the prince himself to have shown up, except the conspirators who wanted him baited and killed off.

 

Gentiana layered a hand on Noctis’ forearm that had her arm looped through, a motion of assurance as Noctis let the smugness fade away to a fierce sort of power and pride, of regality that reminded him totally of his father. Shoulders back and spine straight, at the zenith of the wide staircase did Noctis feel all eyes upon him and Gentiana, everyone knowing immediately who the woman was; a woman of near-legend who few saw but all knew to have served the Nox Fleurets for generations. For her to be on the arm on the recently missing prince drew scandalized gasps and furiously whispered gossip, only the orchestra persistent in their playing.

 

When he felt a familiar thick, oily observance on his person did Noctis feel the world practically slow to a slimy crawl, knowing from who it sourced. Narrowing his eyes belligerently, from his raised place did he fix a glare on Ardyn Izunia whom stood at the very front of the crowd. However, the man’s appearance wasn’t what he expected it to be, dumbfounding the prince.

 

Ardyn’s mouth gaped slightly, hands slack at his sides as he almost looked...hauntingly betrayed. Deeply hurt as through shock registered from being back stabbed by someone beloved. It was an expression Noctis hadn’t expected, one so vulnerable from a man so powerful it made the hairs on the nape of his neck bristle intensely. Gold eyes lost their fiendish light, but for as prolonged as the betrayed and bewildered expression seemed to be, the moment it flashed to Gentiana did Noctis see his face became wrathful and hateful, lips pulled back in a livid snarl before the inordinately tall Chancellor shoved through the crowd at his back, the burgundy-haired man stalking through like a blot of ilk dribbling down parchment to the surprised outcries of some he was particularly brusque with.

 

 _The hell was that about? ...Whatever. Might as well enjoy his freedom while it lasts,_ Noctis thought ruefully, he and Gentiana alighting upon the marble floor. Unbelievable as it was to say, part of him was excited to be at the ball. An impressive array of finger food and drinks were assorted on banquet tables whilst waitstaff expertly maneuvered among the wallflowers and conversing patrons too engrossed in their own affairs to pay mind to the revelers on the floor. Not even the soiree at Via Caelum a month back really compared to this, and that was saying something.

 

“Perhaps his highness wishes to be refreshed?” Gentiana leaned in to say, amused at Noctis’ almost childish delight at the plethora of dishes. That, and a stiff drink after a month of playing fox and rabbit with the empire made him think it was well-deserved.

 

“Eh, just a little,” Noctis simpered, leading Gentiana over and through the revelers, many still in disbelief and giving them a wide radius—something he couldn’t be more grateful for. The woman was content to allow Noctis to peck at what morsels he could, seeing as they wouldn’t be there long enough for dinner. However, when it seemed as though he’d found a comfortable niche to nibble on the selections he had, a man in a tailored, pinstripe suit crowded in beside them. His ashen brown hair was slicked back primly, beard trimmed and shaved impeccably, whilst his oblong, squared face sported a keen pair of brown eyes that found their home upon the prince.

 

“Ah, so this is the infamous prince I have heard so much about.” When Noctis regarded him blandly, Gentiana similarly as deadpanned, the man laughed dryly. “Please, excuse my rudeness, your highness. I am Niveus Anima, First Cancellarii of Lucis—steward in your stead, may we presume. And I must say, it is quite the honor to meet you,” the man purred, his accent clearly Accordian—almost impossible to decipher. Noctis felt himself bristle, Gentiana remaining by his side but not on his arm, nonplussed unlike the prince. Whatever this clown was supposed to be, he certainly fit in well among the Nifs.

 

“Too bad your position is gonna be so short-lived, huh, Cancellarii?” Noctis said spitefully, hiding it behind a neutral line of his lips, expression giving no strong indication of emotion despite the twitch in the Cancellarii’s face, greased behind whatever mask he was trying so very hard to don.

 

“Please, your highness. I assure you, my position here is absolutely necessary. You see, with so many unfinished affairs left behind by the late King Regis, it would be some time before you could properly ascend the throne. Even if not to rule, I assure you, my necessity here would ensure a smooth transition for one so...inexperienced.” The smugness in Niveus’ voice dripped like sour acid, Noctis feeling himself flare with indignation. Even though he bore all the charisma of an actor, it was clear he was not only lying, but that if Niflheim had any use of him, it would be to utilize the Crystal’s power as Ravus and Stella were forced to.

 

“Oh dear me, am I interrupting? How terribly rude of me,” came a familiar, theatrical voice Noctis was narrowly relieved to have intervene. Humming to himself with the flutes of four champagne glasses balanced between his fingers, Ardyn wedged himself between Niveus and Noctis with Gentiana, the prince regarding him oddly. “Please, think nothing of it, highness. I promise you, they’re not poisoned or anything of the sort. Is that not right, dear Niveus?” The man crooned the syllables, Niveus chuckling darkly at the chancellor.

 

“Oh, but what if I am immune to such poisons, as you might be? Such mystery, no, _Signore_?” Niveus laughed into a deep swig of the honeyed spirits after raising the glass in a mocking cheer. “ _A_ _pplausi, il mio principe!_ ” Noctis, meanwhile, could only look irritated as he snatched two glasses for himself and Gentiana, the Messenger taking hers silently. Of course, the cheers was never reciprocated, both Noctis and Gentiana gazing sidelong and beginning to drift.

 

“Oh, highness!” Ardyn called rather cheerily after Noctis, the prince’s hackles raising. “Do take care of yourself this evening. I would so very much adore learning of what you’ve been up to these past several weeks hm~?”

 

Noctis loitered with his back to Ardyn, Gentiana looking pointedly at the prince, nodding confirmation to whatever he was thinking. Wordlessly did he fish around the nape of his collar for the chain, several witnesses watching as he procured it to rest against the tie, then gripping it tightly by the ring and yanking it taut—breaking the clasp soundly. Even Ardyn’s foxy puckishness fell by the wayside as he and Niveus watched Noctis intently, the prince allowing the chain to fall to the floor. Gazing for a long moment upon his father’s—no, _his_ —ring, Noctis sucked in a deep breath as he thrust his ring finger through. Gasping at the hotness of its sensation, the prince’s knees buckled and a flurry of conversation whirred around them at the prince’s strange behavior, few realizing the significance of such an action.

 

Ardyn’s expression grimmed, gaze dark on the prince’s back, but a nod of assurance from Gentiana made him cease questioning the sanity of using the ring on Ardyn. How it would work, he still didn’t know, but all Noctis could think of doing was petitioning the Lucii to imbue him with whatever power would grant him the ability to carry it through.

 

The metals in the ring began thrumming as Noctis slowly regained his stance from the mind-splitting pain, staggered but not lame. With newfound determination did he face Ardyn, eyes illumined their ethereal, deadly scarlet. The Chancellor had little time to react as a runic circle spanned widely at his feet, Noctis’ thoughts consumed by the man, by the Chancellor he knew to be responsible for so much devastation.

 

Before screams of horror could be uttered, time flowed to a blurry haze, an unblinking pause with bleeding, murky lights dulling the bright atmosphere of just a second before. Ardyn extricated himself free of the runic circle’s hold, Noctis noticing a horrible transformation having taken place: the pallor of his skin became ashen, inky streams bleeding from blackened coronas and smeared into his eye sockets, trailing ghoulishly from the corner of his lips.

 

The ring glowed hotter as time moved for only Noctis, Gentiana, and Ardyn, all else frozen. However, the sudden allowance for him meant a break in focus, the prince displaced whilst Ardyn tore himself free of the circle, howling in frustration before dissipating in a miasma of onyx-dark tar, only to manifest at the far end of the ballroom with his coattails fluttering in his mad wake.

 

“ _GET BACK HERE!_ ” Noctis roared deafeningly, summoning his machine blade and hurling it across the room to lodge into the corridor wall where Ardyn had disappeared. Not seeing the man, Noctis’ lips curled back into a snarl and the aura around him became malevolent, the ring sparking with energy as he an with a darting stride down the corridor, thoughts consumed hatefully by the man and honing upon him. Like a bobbing lure did the energy tether further down, Noctis smirking fiendishly at having found his quarry.

 

However, it was Ardyn who barreled into him with a malevolent torrent of dark energy, roaring as black fire and scarlet lightining erupted from his person and struck Noctis, consuming the entire hallway in a divide of tunneling power, unlike anything Noctis had ever faced before. Mired smog choked his lungs, the force of the blast ramming Noctis several feet into the marbled wall chipped and fractured from the onslaught of Ardyn’s power. The prince’s eyes blearily opened to see Ardyn’s silhouette consumed in abyssal shadow, two spectral orbs alone denoting where his eyes were, everything else indistinct.

 

Cackling wildly, Ardyn seized Noctis in a vice by his collar, slamming him into the wall, suspended a good foot from the ground effortlessly on part of his daemonic abilities. “Oh, my dear Noctis! Did you fancy yourself a king so soon?! Without a crown, no less! Stepping into the shoes your dearly departed father never quite left for you to fill!” It was in this that Ardyn’s face alone emerged from the smog, clearing past with a haunting serenity despite the utter insanity in his voice. Slowly was the prince lowered, a distant nostalgia taking to Ardyn’s movements as the dark gale was unceasing, but the vice on his collar transplanted to Noctis’ neck, though not tight enough to suffocate him, but enough to keep him wide-eyed and reeling. Ardyn sighed darkly, chuckling humorlessly. “I have known the gods to be cruel for ages. Yet, I cannot think of a greater cruelty than they giving the Chosen King his **face** …his _voice_ , his _spirit_...” His thumb stroked along Noctis’ pulse, the prince heating involuntarily at such intimate contact, confusion clouding every feature despite the pain throbbing through his skull at such a powerfully malevolent aura.

 

“Like hell I’m gonna be anyone you’d want to know,” Noctis cursed lowly as Ardyn had distractedly leaned to deeply inhale the prince’s scent, the male flushing from such close proximity. However, it proved to be his advantage, whatever this strange disassociation was. By virtue of it alone, knowing Ardyn likely could overpower him again with ease, the ring sparked again as Noctis invoked a runic circle on his breast, the Chancellor’s eyes widening to saucers as the magic once missed was evoked again, the inhuman being caterwauling wildly in unimagineable pain. Noctis flinched as talons dug into his flesh, feeling them pierce into even bone and tissues.

 

Hurling Ardyn away, the man regained some of his balance, albiet staggered. Noctis cried out as he invoked the ring again, another blinding flash crackling the air as a runic circle glowed cobalt beneath Ardyn’s feet, the man doubled over and dry heaving until he miserably retched blackened tar, mouth bloodied and stained with it, the reek of motor oil profusely pugnent in the air. Noctis himself gagged at the stench, but concentrated wholly on Ardyn, wave after wave of power seeming to divest him of composure and ichor-black substance.

 

“Only you would...betray me with that face!” Ardyn roared through his sickening convulsions, writhing in inhuman torment within the circle, raiment becoming torn and burnt by his own blackened fires. Ardyn’s voice was guttural and garbled from the tar he kept retching between breaths, teeth and tongue stained by its sickly ink as he grinned deliriously, eyes wide and mad from the pain, the torment of demons within being purged yet unable to escape their vessel. Sundered to the marble floor, his body fell limpid, pooled within a mercurial pool of tar-black blood. Ardyn’s eyes were aghast, staring ahead into nothingness. The infernal magic that tore through the corridor with all the force of a hurricane diminished to an electrified breeze, slowing with scattered appointments torn chaotically.

 

Noctis limped towards the Chancellor, the frozen entourage of people within the ballroom slowly reanimating as if nothing had happened, despite the gradually ascending crescendo of screaming at either the sight of the Chancellor, or those dropping dead from the delayed reaction to the nefarious battle conducted between the two men, a greater swath fainting from horror or injuries and all driven into chaos within minutes.

 

Softly, did Gentiana descend upon the Chancellor, praying over him as an Oracle would and disappearing with Ardyn in a bright flash of light, Noctis staggered and gazing obliviously upon the mere of tar that was hardening in the wake of the body it belonged to. Not even the stirring chaos could dislodge him from it, except when Nyx jostled the prince with Crowe in tow.

 

“Hey, Noct, keep it together! We have to get the hell out of here,” Nyx urged, an arm curving around the weakened prince’s waist, Noctis barely able to even stand. Crowe watched their backs, magic at the ready.

 

“What the hell happened back there, anyways? Actually—scratch that. Let’s just focus on keeping our asses in one piece,” Crowe shouted above the discord, Nyx leading them into the bowels of the venue where the cars were; even if they couldn’t acquire their own, one could easily be hotwired, a skill most glaives knew how to do.

 

“There! There’s our ride. You want to do the honors, Crowe, or should I?” Nyx shouted with the prince still leaning on him like a crutch, the male blearily focusing on the action unfolding as MT’s were hot on their trail.

 

“I’m a little busy here!” Crowe shouted above a firestorm she was brewing, concentrating upon sucking as many MT’s as she could into the small firestorm without compromising them. Plates of metal dislodged and fused in the inferno, sharpnel scattering and discordant banging thundering within the underground garage.

 

“Got it,” Nyx murmured to himself, unceremoniously stuffing Noctis through to the passenger’s side, the prince grunting as he stiffly straightened himself. “Crowe! Over here!” The woman glanced over as Nyx slammed the front door shut, revving the engine whilst the woman sprinted towards the car, vaulting over some MT’s and scrambling into the backseat and slamming the door shut in unison with Nyx flooring the vehicle in reverse. “Hold on to something, ladies!” Banking sharply, with a screech did the tires smoke and the car sail through the winding underground garage until they emerged to the surface, Nyx wildly jerking the car that caused Noctis to brace with one hand upon the windowsill and another on the dashboard, trying to keep himself from flailing like a rag doll despite his complete exhaustion from the battle with Ardyn.

 

“Almost there,” Nyx declared, noting they were speeding upon a blockade of police cars and the gate itself, the man turning to his fellow glaive and the prince. “Little help out here, guys!” Noctis turned to Crowe and the woman moved her head between the seats, a hand extended that Noctis matched. Together, a burst of energy combined to unleash a lighting storm upon the blockade, cleaving through several cars and clearing a path, causing the mechanized road blocks to lower from the electrical malfunction. Several cars burst into flame and exploded, rocking the ground that Nyx still sped headlong for. Accelrating, they punched through at blistering speed, ricocheting some from the narrow ingress that clipped off a mirror and jolted everyone inside, screeches elicited from the metal scraped away.

 

Nyx and Crowe whooped, Noctis pulled into a one-armed hug by Nyx that Crowe piled into, all of them elated that their crazy plan had pulled through at all. Noctis, despite his dogged tiredness, was able to crack a smile and even laugh. “If you would’ve told me a day ago this would’ve pulled off, I would’ve said you were crazy, highness,” Crowe grinned, jostling Noctis and holding him in a friendly headlock for a moment.

 

“Well, I think we’re all the right kind of crazy, right? I’m not positive it would’ve worked as well if we were more level-headed,” Noctis rejoined with a sobered smile, the three of them returned to their seats, Crowe flopping in the backseat with a sigh.

 

“Right. Well, wake me up when we get there, alright? I’m bushed,” Crowe waved away, settling her hands on her stomach restively, leaving Nyx and Noctis to converse on their own. It was fortunate Nyx had chosen an underground road sparsely used, especially in the wake of Niflheim’s attack on Insomnia that had temporarily paralyzed travel to and from the city whilst they held it in martial rule. Notwithstanding that it had been a month ago since then.

 

The illumination from the dash contoured darkly to both their faces, Noctis leaning against the window and attempting not to doze off completely despite how difficult it was to remain even conscious. “So, uh, Noct—what happened to your lady friend, anyways? She ditch to get some cocktails with some gal pals at the last minute?” Though the attempt at a joke was lame, it earned a wry smile from Noctis nonetheless.

 

“Nah. That was Gentiana—the one I was talking about. When...time _froze_ , I guess, after the fight I think she just knew what to do with Ardyn. We won’t know until we get the Disc of Cauthess. I mean, she really didn’t tell me anything aside from where to go once it was all over with,” Noctis supplied with a shrug, eyes sliding tiredly to the glaive.

 

Nyx nodded slowly, puffing air upwards and sighing. Raking his hands through his undershave, his eyes focused ahead on the road, leaning back in his seat. “Alright, I gotcha. Might as well rest up, Noct. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us and—“ The glaive was interrupted by a soft snore from Noctis, the prince already out like a light; Nyx chuckled at the prince. “That works, too. Sweet dreams, princess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: It finally happened! Ardyn’s finally getting some well-deserved ass-kicking, which I think we all know he needs, deep down. But for those of you wondering about the ring, the additional power I added was inspired by Final Fantasy Peasant’s mention of the Ring of the Lucii being a lot like the Seal of Solomon that was granted the biblical ability to control demons as endowed by God, as King Solomon did in order to construct the Temple of Jerusalem. And since Ardyn houses a whole hodgepodge of demons & the Ring was made by the Astrals, it made sense that this was how it could be carried out.
> 
> As for Niveus Anima, do any of you remember the man featured in the old trailers who we couldn’t decide was Regis or not? Well, that’s him—sorta. His composite, at least. Gotta get the mafioso government off the ground somehow!
> 
> And yes, if you’re wondering, Gentiana will be a regular from here on out. I wasn’t the only one wishing she was more prominent, so like Crowe, she’s getting a headlining role. 
> 
> Lastly, thank you to everyone who has given me such wonderful reception and comments! I know I don’t respond to all of them personally—and I dunno, maybe I should change that—but they do make my day nevertheless and I love hearing everyone’s thoughts.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	8. I Gave Myself Over Willingly

( **Warning(s]** : M, gory descriptions, mutilation mentions, torture]

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark. Always, always dark. Chains rattled with a great upset, clinking and clanging against bars and trappings of steel. They burned. Hallowed runes and markings were stitched into their make, embossed proudly with defamation against the dark, proudly against all that it was. Ah, but the dark. The grateful, cooling dark against garish light spoke so softly into him, pouring into the cracks of bones and hot places saturated with bile and tar. For he was the Void’s arbiter, its voice in the mortal realm. Scion of the Starscourge, the ruination of kingdoms and crystals alike. This was his swell of pride, the numbing panacea against the ills of it all.

 

Oh, but how easily the Tower of Babel had fallen.

 

A face. It was always his face. With eyes of a hellion star and hair of darkest cobalt, like the center of a collapsed supernova. A face that made his heart burn with hatred and obsession and the dead echoes of love. Over him would he preside, this beautiful man Ardyn had been willing to submit every corner of his heart to. Had almost wished to lay down his life for, this man whom had so easily inspired his ruin.

 

“ _Izunia,_ ” Ardyn rasped miserably in the dark, a warbling, mournful note that punctuated the cavernous emptiness he was confined to. Tar bled from his ankles and wrists, groveled to his knees upon the icy ground that pierced shards into the soles of his feet and calves, shackles bloodied from rough, raw abrasions that shone in whatever light could bleed. Wounds that wouldn’t heal from whatever closed them from the immortal font that had kept him alive for so very long, canceled by nullifying chains. His mane of hair was matted to his head, plastered messily to his face that clung to sweat and blood. Clad only in his trousers and torn dress shirt, it bore a haunting remembrance of an event past, one that set his heart to a cold, terrorized murmur.

 

A pair of footsteps broke the silence, Ardyn numbly raising lightless gold eyes to its source. Enhanced senses could eventually see these figures advance from outline, to silhouette, to bodied people of the ilk that made his lips curl in a disdainful sneer. “Dear me, darling prince, don’t you think this is a bit too _excessive_ for drinks that didn’t agree with your palette? Niflheim brews aren’t _that_ punishing to the tongue—“

 

“Just shut up.” Noctis was the one who spoke first, Gentiana’s expression impassive and otherwise unreadable. As it’d always been. A flashlight attached to his lapel flickered on and Ardyn unflinchingly held his glower in its beam that belied the mocking tone he’d taken, pupils contracting. The bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced, skin ashen and pale that foiled greatly to the olive hue they’d been so familiar with; even his hair showing tinges of gray. However long they’d kept him prisoner, it appeared as though he’d weathered such punishment for years.

 

“Tsk, _tsk_ , Noct. You know, for a man seeking to reclaim his throne, you’d make quite a rude king,” Ardyn tutted, gaze still unrelenting upon the prince, as if boring through to his soul. That was until Noctis summoned his engine blade and menaced it upon Ardyn’s throat, the Chancellor bearing his jugular with an amused chortle. “Goodness, had I known you were this dogged in your efforts, I would’ve put up more of a fight. What is it you kids say nowadays? ‘ _Put ‘em up_ ’, is it?”

 

“Fallen one of Scourge’s blight, what untold sorrow you have yet to gift upon the world,” Gentiana broke through their tirade, stepping forth and standing before Ardyn, the man’s visage hardened with a fierce scowl as his hands gripped into fists that blanched at the knuckles, chains rattling taut as the man lunged for her, leashed on a line he could not cross as her frigid green eyes remained dispassionate upon him.

 

“What I have yet to gift to the world?! Have you not told him the truth, you empty-headed harlot?! Of how I truly fell?! How I was betrayed and played for a fool!” Ardyn thundered resoundingly, baring his teeth and partially transformed as he’d been before, the prince reflexively drawing back a step. Flashing his gaze heatedly to Noctis, Ardyn grinned sarcastically, wolfish and vengeful. “Dear Noctis, how little you know! How easily you play into their hands as I once so foolishly did!”

 

Noctis glanced at Gentiana; the woman met it enigmatically, as if there was no offense. Brows furrowing, with one last look spared to Ardyn still frothing with rage and waves of malice did the duo depart from the icy chasm that held Ardyn captive, Noctis striding up the winding stair that brought them to the heated atmosphere of the crater where he was being contained. Above them, the Archean regarded them stonily, a stoic guardian to the prison temporarily constructed. Before the woman could think of disappearing, Noctis seized her by the shoulder, the woman looking perplexedly at him beneath the night sky.

 

“Gentiana, what the hell is going on? I’ve done everything I can to this point, but I can’t go on without knowing what Ardyn is. Who is he, really?” Noctis pressed upon her, cerulean eyes holding the woman’s gaze despite how otherworldly it often was.

 

Nodding towards a tiered outcropping of stone situated like amphitheater seating, Gentiana soothed her skirts to sit and silently bid Noctis to do the same with her on the igneous rock. Hands delicately placed upon her lap, the woman uttered a low sigh. “The man to whom you speak was once as you are, my king. Chosen, ordained to save our world. This was long ago. A time when he was a savior. A king.”

 

“Wait, so—are you saying we’re of the same line?” Noctis’ expression became befuddled, perplexed that such a reality could be in the line of possibility.

 

Gentiana gently shook her head, gaze honed meditatively upon the entrance they had just emerged from. “He is known as Ardyn Lucis Caelum, in truth, but you are not of the same line,” the woman spoke finally, meeting Noctis and his deeper look of confusion. “The Accursed would be better suited to regale you. Go to him, o’ king of kings. He will not shirk the truth.”

 

Just as Noctis was going to demand further answers, within a blink of his eyes did Gentiana vanish from sight, the prince balking out of his seat and ranging his gaze for sight of the woman, only to be met with nothing. Shifting upwards, the Archean gaped mutely at him, gnashing his teeth and uttering atmospheric babbles that availed no meaning to Noctis. Sighing, only the chasm hewn of ice was pronounced as the viable option, the prince beginning his descent anew.

 

Ardyn numbly lifted his head when he heard a singular sound of footfalls and was almost relieved to see only Noctis, his tormentor and warden now. However, that did nothing to quail Ardyn’s fiendishly delighted expression, knowing why he was here without having to ask. The chains shifted as his back straightened, spine creaking from the effort whilst he canted his head almost coyly despite his demeanor. “Gentiana is so full of stories to tell, isn’t she, Noct? Quite the Messenger, indeed,” he quipped with effacing sarcasm, grin quick and wolfish.

 

“Cut the bullshit. Are you going to tell me the truth, or just some made up shit?” Noctis retorted acerbically, glancing down at the ring of the Lucii and deciding upon invoking some of its power, to act like a crop to any insubordination Ardyn might try to enact.

 

Ardyn burst into hysterical, manic laughter as his body seized up and pain electrified his body, holy energies scorching the pith of his rotted core, skin sizzling and the stench of burning flesh causing Noctis’ nose to scrunch up whilst Ardyn was consumed in a paroxysm of madness and exorcising pain. Lightning flashed blindly throughout the cavern, plays of blinding light sourcing from the man, even his skeletal structure hauntingly outlined against the blaze of holy fire wreaking havoc within. Strands of electricity coursed through tendrils of his hair, a wicked torture for anyone to witness. Letting it cease, Ardyn fell limp and ragged, mane of hair falling in a tousled mess around him.

 

The immortal’s head raised in a jolt and he grinned ghoulishly at Noct, a lone eye of gold in its pith corona open with delighted contempt as his grin spanned, teeth and maw dyed black from the brutality of it. Even though Noctis felt a clout of guilt bloom in his chest—for he was no villain as Ardyn so easily seemed to be—he knew it was ultimately necessary. “That _hurt_ , Noct. Goodness, a mere ‘please’ would have sufficed. _A_ _~_ _h_ , youth today!” The Chancellor tried to sit up again cross-legged, bones crackling like plastic bottles being crushed beneath his skin, a spine-chilling sound. Even Noctis could feel goosebumps bristle on his skin in revulsion.

 

“How are you Ardyn Lucis Caelum? You don’t even look like one of us,” Noctis began, deflecting Ardyn’s saccharine taunting with ease. He crossed his arms, leaning against an icy pillar that was one of many from which the chains binding Ardyn sourced.

 

“A hundred and thirteen kings and you’ve never entertained the possibility of some looking a smidge different than yourself. Not all were blue-haired and blue-eyed, you know. As I recall, dear old Regis leaned a tad bit more towards _a_...greenish-grey in the eye, yes! That’s the one. A delightful hue to watch the life drain from,” Ardyn quipped with puckish callousness, earning an enraged grimace from the prince.

 

“Keep his name out of your mouth!” Noctis flared, the ring sparking again as a jolt of Holy electrocuted the man, to discipline him.

 

Ardyn stiffened and winced sharply, shuddering as the sensation ebbed away. “Mm, suit yourself. Now, where were we?” He regained traction, the train of conversation returning. “Ah, _yes_! This whole familial mess of how we share a name, but not a drop of blood between us. Say, Noct, isn’t it funny how I am referred to as a Usurper? Why, it’s positively untrue! But, that’s quite a tale. I simply wouldn’t wish to drain his highness’ limited patience with such a long, winding bore.”

 

“We’ve got all night, Ardyn. Start talking,” Noctis grit out, glowering at the Chancellor.

 

Somehow, the utterance of Ardyn’s name quelled the tomfoolery and mockery in the man, expression becoming grim and gaze oddly yearning towards the prince, lips pursed. Ardyn’s gold eyes fell and his tousled maroon locks spilled like a curtain to shield his eyes, Noctis regarding the man oddly. The chains clinked softly as he attempted to scoot closer, as if to hear Noctis’ voice better. “Perhaps if you refer to me by my name, I will be more inclined to cooperate, prince,” Ardyn rasped lowly, no mockery in his voice. Nothing but exhaustion that seemed too old for his apparent age.

 

“Alright, Ardyn,” Noctis complied in an almost gentled tone, feeling a strange warmth in the air.

 

This caused Ardyn to sigh deeply, tensity sagging from him as his eyes closed in minute rapture, as if savoring the moment blissfully. Exhaling deeply, he resumed speaking, shattering the strangely peaceable airs betwixt them. “I speak his name so much, perhaps I ought speak of Izunia. The man who would riddle away so much of the mystery between us, hm?” His gaze shifted from the ground to Noctis, holding the prince’s to his before it was cast away. “I am not of this age, as you might have surmised, Noct. Since the time of the past, to now, three-thousand, one-hundred and eighteen years have passed since my conception. In an age when Solheim still existed as an empire in atrophy, I was a young man, as you were, but older. Since I was a child, there was a boy. A most beautiful boy but three, four years younger than myself. Izunia von Solheim, heir apparent to the Solheim dynasty that had ruled Solheim since its founding. Ah, but, we were the closest of friends. Brothers, they called us, even if not by blood. Hah, but what fools they were! For I did not, could not, love him simply as a brother.”

 

Noctis felt the blood in his veins slowly curdle. The one Ardyn had accused him of looking, _being_ like? The immortal’s gaze held Noctis’ as if in silent confirmation, the younger feeling perspiration bead upon his brow. “Go on,” he replied automatically, with forceful composure, trying to disguise looking as if someone had prodded him with a searing branding iron.

 

Ardyn smiled grimly, gaze returning to the ground. “I loved him so very much. Even when Izunia had become a disenfranchised prince forced to live as a hostage in Lucis after a trifling war between our kingdoms, he was there when I ascended as king, when I was chosen by the crystal. I became a savior, a healer whom cured maladies and the scourge of possessions happening at the hand of daemons; I cured the afflicted. Even as a hostage, he was a king—or a Sultan, as his countrymen called him—in his own right, but a jealous king. One not yet chosen by Solheim’s own crystal. I suppose this is where we fell apart.”

 

Noctis’ arms unfolded, retaining the story of Izunia well enough, but—Ardyn? A healer? “Wait, so you’re telling me you were an Oracle?”

 

Ardyn tutted him mockingly, earning a scornful glower from the prince, though he crooned lustrously in retaliation. “Ah, ah, prince. Stories are best explained after they’re told in full. Oh, you _impatient_ thing. If you wish to know so badly, yes, I suppose I was. Gifted with the Armiger and abilities as an Oracle, as they’re called nowadays.”

 

Noctis snorted and returned to his place, crossing his arms. Lifting a brow, he propped a leg against the column. “I’m listening, Ardyn,” he urged, unwilling to mask the impatience from his voice.

 

Ardyn smirked, winking at the prince. “You truly are like Izunia. He was always a delight to tease. Although, perhaps you’re more so since you’re not as used to it,” he surmised rather delightedly, tongue flicking out over his lips. “Going to use the ring again? You know, perhaps if you lower the voltage and concentrate it on just the **right** spot, I imagine the outcome would be simply _delicious_.~”

 

That statement alone caused a dark flush to bloom over the prince’s features, gaping and flinching as what Ardyn was insinuating became apparent. Indignantly did he cough into his hand, the flustered nature behind it not lost on Ardyn who chuckled at the endearing bashfulness of the prince. “Fucking pervert,” he cursed under his breath, folding his arms defensively. “Can’t you shut the fuck up and get back to the story?!”

 

“My, my, still so vulgar, I see. Very well. Now, I told you of Izunia. What else to you wish to know, dear Noct?” Ardyn sighed airily, feigning obliviousness to Noctis’ consternation.

 

“How did it all fall apart, exactly? With you and Izunia.”

 

This sobered Ardyn from his flirtations, the memories scouring away levity with a nostalgic and rueful heaviness. His lips thinned, sitting upon his legs in an ever-restless shift to be comfortable within his moorings. “Ah yes, the true center to this story, is it not?” Ardyn guffawed darkly, causing Noctis to raise a brow. Sensing the prince’s ephemeral impatience, he continued. “I mentioned the jealousy, did I not? It was this time that the Great War of Old had begun that Izunia’s treachery and want for a throne became paramount, and the chaos over the Starscourge and my efforts to abate it took me away from Lucis. Ifrit and I, in those days, were enemies. I traveled throughout Eos leading my armies, healing the people, and being the messiah for which they so craved and adored. For I was nearly a god in their eyes. Ah, but those times came to an end, you see. When the daemons in me began transforming me, the Crystal rejected me and I lost the gods’ favor. Ah, ah! But it was not enough, you see. No, no, Izunia had much _more_ for me in store.”

 

Noctis had to look away for a moment, absorbing the story in. Were it any other occasion, given what he’d encountered when embattled with Ardyn, he would’ve chalked it up as total bullshit. But if daemons weren’t housed manifold in him, then there would’ve been no way the Ring of the Lucii would’ve worked. And Ardyn wouldn’t be here as his prisoner.

 

Almost disappointed that Noctis didn’t interject, Ardyn sighed and continued. “It wasn’t enough, what I’d done. What I’d undergone. While I was away, he staged a coup, revealed all my transgressions and how my healing was perverting my very nature. The gods looked to him, this dejected _Şehzade_ of Solheim, and the Crystal’s light chose him. And so, Izunia took my family name, my power, legitimized his claim by wedding Gentiana Nuit Fiorotto and took my throne—all at the endorsement of the Astrals. Hah, and this was only when I was away!”

 

Ardyn’s very gaze seemed to drift away to the intangible, the feral light in his eyes from before dulling to a light-devoid amber. There was a hardness that stirred pity in even Noctis, conflicted as it was. For this man had masterminded Insomnia’s fall and was inadvertently responsible for the death of Regis and his best friend, Gladio. “When I returned, a parade was staged in my honor. I was hailed as a hero. Astride my lovely black chocobo, waving; all those nonsensical things you do to adulating crowds. There was to be a feast, and what a feast it was! I can still taste the savory morels, but it would be the last time. That night, Izunia’s treachery was revealed. I was drugged, gagged and bound, and dragged into the dungeons where I woke, partly naked and cold. In the morning, I was given a trial where I could not speak, Izunia reading my crimes and Gentiana staring impassively as she often does, until—I was taken somewhere dark, alone, and I was crucified. Nailed to pales of wood, ribs and legs broken, feeling water fill my lungs and no sunlight but a single shaft to warm my dying flesh… I saw Izunia one last time before the man died. Before I became as I am.” The strain in Ardyn’s voice was pained, as if he were reliving it all over again.

 

Not that his current circumstances were much different, the man casting Noctis a brief, enigmatic look.

 

Noctis gazed at Ardyn with something brewing in his eyes, akin to sympathy and conflict mingling hot and cold there. The male remembered of how even his own mother, Aulea, had spoken of how her own family had descended from an ancient Solheim house, seeming more resonant than ever. Yet, blankly did his feet carry him heedlessly towards Ardyn of their own accord, pausing short of him as the man slowly raised his gaze, a shadow of a smile crossing the Accursed’s lips. He wondered how much was truth, how much was fabrication. Being alive for so long could have easily given Ardyn ample time to conceive as many variations of his own story as he wished, simply because his erasure from history—this much Noctis knew to be true—meant anything could be truth, or lies. Only Gentiana could confirm for him, or if the Archean could somehow commune with him, even though a lack of an Oracle made such a feat seemingly impossible. With deceptive gentleness did Noctis’ fingers curl around Ardyn’s chin and beneath his jawline, the man closing his eyes in rapture and leaning into it, sighing contentedly. When Noctis noticed as much, he dug his nails into Ardyn’s skin to snap him out of it; the Chancellor laughed airily, eyes cracking open again.

 

“Even if this is true, you honestly think that’s gonna make me pity you? However old you were when this happened is pretty small compared to thousands of years of treachery and chaos and whatever the hell else you were up to. And I sure as hell won’t forgive you for what you did to Insomnia, my dad, or my friends,” Noctis said sternly, assertion speaking volumes in a voice so subdued, to keep it between them.

 

Ardyn’s smile broadened wistfully, craning some to rest his forehead on just shy of Noctis’ kneecap, the prince’s grip upon him since released. The man was simply content to be allowed a moment of rest, so charitable for a prince whom had largely denounced any hope of reconciliation between them. To be expected, after all. For the dear prince was utterly oblivious to truths that loomed over him, and this imprisonment did nothing to abate what was to come.

 

“Oh, but of course, my dear. I could expect nothing less from the Chosen King to scorn the man whom has caused him so much ruin, indeed!” Ardyn simpered with a thinning smile, flexing his fingers. “Now, while immortality is quite the charm, I am so very afraid it doesn’t quite rid one of the necessity for water. Might you have some on hand, if it’s not too much trouble? Speaking so long puts quite the strain on this old voice box, you know.”

 

Noctis scoffed at his request, realizing with reluctance that it didn’t seem too outlandish, loathe as he was to give into anything that Ardyn wanted. Despite the fact that Noctis considered his clemency to put him far above the Chancellor. “Could just lick the ice or something,” he groused before procuring his gourd and uncorking it, setting it near the man.

 

“As much as I would surely relish in some feat of dexterity with my teeth, I’m afraid I can’t quite lift my head high enough. Dreadful predicament indeed, your highness, to request so much of you.” Despite his words, the man hardly strove to conceal his smug, catty smirk.

 

Noctis sighed irately and dragged his hands down his face, then snatching the gourd and lifting the lip of the gourd to Ardyn’s lips, the man drinking sloppily and deep, draining over half of it in but a few dregs. When realizing that he’d have to hand wash it later, what with there being shared germs, Noctis shuddered in revulsion when Ardyn was finished. “You know what? You have it. I’ve got…more,” he spoke haltingly, grimacing as he set it within Ardyn’s reach.

 

The Chancellor chuckled richly, canting his head at the prince. “Oh, you _sweet_ thing, I will be certain to cherish it _always_ ,” Ardyn purred with a churlish smile, despite how prone he was. Naturally, Ardyn found himself endeared by the disgusted face Noctis made at the pet name. As if he hadn’t called Noctis a slew of them over the course of their conversation.

 

“Fucking Six, I wouldn’t mind chugging bleach right about now…” To this, Ardyn chortled audibly.

 

Still, what bothered Noctis more wasn’t that Ardyn was layering the creepiness factor too thickly, but what he’d said. Was Noctis’ line really not of the Lucii as they’d always thought? The history he’d been taught by tutors and even his father was suddenly cast in alienating relief, as if he wasn’t even sure that was true. Regardless, Ardyn made his skin crawl by just existing. More and more did he want to escape the confines of Ardyn’s prison and return to camp where he could sanitize himself with the company of people he could actually stand.

 

Turning to leave, Ardyn’s voice beckoned at his back with saccharine sweetness. “Do return in the morning, if you can, Noct. Otherwise, it will be quite lonely without your company, and the Archean hardly makes for a proper conversation partner. Quite shoddy, wouldn’t you say?” His voice was cloying, like molasses that stuck grossly between one’s fingers.

 

Saying nothing except furtively glancing over his shoulder, Noctis ascended the stair and left Ardyn alone in the darkness once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: God, this chapter was more fun to write than I thought it would be. Ardyn’s definitely one of the more unique villains I’ve written for, especially since some of the stuff he does even just ordinarily is super cringe-worthy. But still, this is one of the chapters I promised, and hopefully it’s as good as I kept saying it would be.
> 
> A note on Solheim & Noct’s lineage: I headcanon Solheim to be coded to the Ottoman Empire, a Turkish empire. That, and Noctis’ heritage is coded to be Turkish & Korean, most likely, despite the Latinized names and such. Just something to keep in mind in case things get confusing! I guess to go on, I see Accordo as Italian, Lucis as American/Romanized, Tenebrae would be Nordic/French, and Niflheim is Germanic/Nordic, and Solheim being based on North Africa/Middle East with concentration in the Ottoman Empire, which spanned pretty far!
> 
> Also, if you’re wondering about Gentiana’s surname, I do headcanon her as a Fleuret! The name used a precursor to before they became the line of Oracles and inevitably changed it. At least, that’s just my headcanon for it seeing as surnames rarely stay constant over thousands of years.
> 
> Anyways, I can’t wait to see where this goes!


	9. You Took Your Toll On Me

( **Warning(s]** : M, gore, horror, mutilation]

* * *

 

“God, he’s such a fucking creep.”

Laying beneath the stars, it was easier when it was just them. Noctis, and Prompto—as it’d been for years back in high school and even for a time after. Nebulae spun overhead and the quiet rumbling of tremors within Cauthess’ crater was strangely lulling, both able to relax knowing Ardyn was shackled and bound by chains that limited his power. Neither male had known where they’d come from, other than Shiva had said the Titan had used them before on a being more powerful than even Ardyn. To think, the object of his vengeance was a bigger threat than anyone could’ve anticipated was relieving, that what had begun as an audacious and certainly foolhardy venture actually worked out made Noctis believe that he not only had a chance of succeeding, but of coming in his own as a competent king.

It made the sting of Gladio’s final words less, at the very least.

“Have fun interrogating the Chancellor?” Prompto teased as he turned on his side, smile still well-natured in spite of it all.

“A blast. Better than the Moogle-Chocobo Carnival I went to as a kid. …He’d definitely be a shoe-in for Kenny the Crow, at least,” Noctis rejoined with a half smile, rolling to lay on his stomach.

“You know, Noct… Maybe you should have more faith in yourself. For everything that’s happened, you’ve been pulling us along pretty well,” Prompto admitted, etching meandering whorls on the dusty outcropping they were sprawled upon.

“If it weren’t for you guys, I wouldn’t be anywhere but six feet under, if I was that lucky.”

A pall of quiescence fell heavily upon them, both men falling utterly quiet. “Sometimes…it doesn’t really register that Gladio’s gone…that we’re going to war with an entire empire. Sometimes, I keep expecting to wake up to the same dark skyline we grew up with as kids,” Prompto murmured, only enough for Noctis to hear. “Noct...do you hate him for what happened?”

Gladio. They’d been so crucially busy that Noctis hadn’t given himself time to think about what happened, of how he felt over it all. In truth, Noctis had buried his feelings so deeply that everything else had been primary: surviving, filching and procuring rations, hunting, devising plans...what had happened had been repressed so deeply it hadn’t even been secondary. That wasn’t to say he’d forgotten, however.

“...Do we really have time to talk about him, Prompto? We’ve got the Chancellor smuggled beneath an icy cavern in chains with the Archean keeping watch. Not the time to be so...touchy-feely,” Noctis deflected, brows furrowing deeply. He’d spent too little time asleep and more time transcribing what Ardyn had said to sort out his feelings. The prince was drained, ready to collapse, exhausted. “...Besides, I think that should wait for Iggy to talk about it, too. It’s something we all need to sort through.”

Prompto nodded, still looking crestfallen. It didn’t take any particular stroke of intuition to know Gladio and Prompto had been close, maybe closer than Noctis had thought he was. But, their final confrontation still haunted him. Gladio had always borne a short fuse where it concerned the prince, but had always striven to protect him without Noctis having to ask. Had it only been a means to an end? A spitfire mask to the treachery his father had instilled in him? It only made him wonder what Iris was up to since Insomnia had fallen. Regardless, it wasn’t something Noctis wanted to talk about.

His eyes drifted towards the crater where Ardyn was incarcerated, at the minute rocking of the meteor itself as the Astral held it up above the Chancellor’s prison. A distant sense of obligation burrowed in his chest, one that extended for even Ardyn.

“I’m gonna...take a walk,” Noctis said suddenly, rising from his bedroll.

“Uh, hey—want me to go with you, buddy?” Prompto asked, propping himself on his elbows as Noctis pulled on his short-sleeved jacket, the prince’s motions becoming deliberate.

“Gentiana wanted to discuss something with me at the crater. But—I won’t be gone long. Promise,” Noctis lied, flashing his best friend an assuring smile. Ah, but what a lie it was. Because all he knew was that he needed to go alone, without anyone interfering.

* * *

 

Ardyn’s breathing was hoarse, it impossible to repose when the way his arms were spanned wide and callously by the shackles, digging into his flesh and drawing shallow, burning breaths as sinew seared from being stretched for hours on end like this. His spine ached terribly, sweat coating with dust and the cold pierced his skin where his feet were bare and frostbite gnawing at his soles. Cold. Such terrible, unforgiving cold. A frost that could only be hers, that caged him. Chains sealed his powers, if not his immortality, and dragged him to the depths of humanity in such a simple misery. Shackles that had an ancient, deliberate purpose for beings like him.

Intended, once, for a being like _her_.

The collar about his neck tightened like a noose as Ardyn had fallen into a falsity of sleep, body too exhausted by the Ring’s subsequent attacks to fill his thoughts with daemonic chatter. In the silence, memories filled the torturous hours, of those that seemed the most devastating. As if engineered for such a purpose.

Breath rasped noisily from his throat, iron bored against his jugular and pressuring the blood hotly in his head; a mortal asphyxiation in his mockery of sleep. However, the metallic, slow clangor of metal links passing through a pulley suddenly relived the cumbersome pain upon the left of his frame, then the right, as his arms flopped to the ground. Then, the tensity released at his neck as Ardyn collapsed to his knees with a ragged gasp that jarred him awake. Breathing still heavily stertorous, it took a slow moment of cognition to realize the sensation of something soft and warm being draped upon his shoulders, the scent achingly familiar.

Echoing footfalls stopped short of but a few strides ahead of him, the prince himself sitting partly cross-legged whilst propping his elbow on a raised knee, the young man’s gaze awake and flinty in the reddened moonlight that bled through the cavernous prison. “You awake, Ardyn?”

“I’ve had..countless dreams, Noct. Never a nightmare, save...” he swallowed thickly, voice hoarse with disuse, “ _one_. The darkened night of my crucifixion, only able to see Izunia’s back, as I am voiceless and still, shouting… Pleading for him to look at me, only...to be availed naught.” Ardyn’s eyes are still largely obscured, the man turning his face as he pulled the jacket more over him, still coming up short due to its owner bearing a smaller frame. But it was warm—he inhaled slowly, rapturously—and _sweet_.

Noctis’ face was deadpanned, full of focus and determination despite the stillness of it. “I’m not like you, and I sure as hell am nothing like Izunia. I still have questions, and you’re going to answer them.”

“Why so clement then, Noct? Wouldn’t it be easier to keep me uncomfortably shackled as I was and whip me into shape with that dear trinket of yours when the fancy strikes? And don’t bore me with that ‘ _we’re nothing alike_ ’ drivel. A higher moral standard is simply keeping me alive, wouldn’t you say?” Ardyn inquired with a conniving expression and laconic lilt, back slouched and shoulders sagged, no decorum possessing need between them today.

The Lucian’s jaw set rigidly and his temple throbbed, losing the composure he’d steeled himself with. Why make Ardyn comfortable? What was the reason, really? These weren’t questions Noctis had asked himself moments ago when he’d triggered the mechanisms to allow Ardyn this much motor freedom, had given him his jacket despite the earlier revulsion at merely sharing his water gourd. If anything, it’d been automatic.

“Kinda hard to hear you talk when you’re chained like how you were. It’s just easier like this.” The prince scoffed, then amending, “Stop puffing up the reason behind why I do stuff.”

“Oh, so your jacket on my shoulders is merely for the sake of utility? Not wishing to have it dirtied on the cold, hard ground, dear prince?” It seemed as though Ardyn’s wheedling beneath his skin came to draw as clenched fists blanched at the knuckles, Noctis’ eyes narrowing dangerously. Yet, Ardyn allowed a slow, smug grin to form when it looked as though he were ready to utilize the ring, the temptation needling in Noctis’ very eyes.

“Well, someone’s perceptive. I think you make a better coat rack than Chancellor, personally,” Noctis rejoined with a smirk, Ardyn’s features soothing until he attempted to cough away a badly suppressed chuckle, not having expected Noctis to react that way through his attempts to antagonize him.

However, the brief interlude was interrupted as Noctis’ features settled into their cool focus once more, Ardyn gradually relaxing as the worst of his nocturnal pain ebbed away, spine straightening. The manacles about his wrists and ankles clinked as the Chancellor recomposed himself, his leering smile still plastered on his face.

“I’m curious of your own dreams, dear Noct. Especially regarding one...Lunafreya, was it? The Oracle of your generation, dead and gone before her time. So tragic, and so _very_ young.”

Whatever mirth had been shared for a split second was quickly spirited away as Noctis’ eyes narrowed, boring into those of gold so contemptuous to bear. “What do you mean?” he challenged monotonously, leaning in as if in defiance.

Ardyn’s smile sharpened into a grin, predatory in nature, bangs shading his face darkly. “You killed her, Noct. Perhaps as a lad, but—dead and gone all the same. Must be curious to have one’s hands bloodied so young.” Wicked glee lit up Ardyn’s visage, crossing his legs and resting his elbows loosely upon them as a finger came to tap a beat against his temple deliberately. “Ah, I see. Your dear old father must have...dealt with that little t _ravesty_ , mm?” A predatory, cruel thrum underlined a low vibrato to Ardyn’s voice, Noctis feeling the color drain from his face.

“Dad’s gone, that means...” Noctis murmured in disbelief, cold panic flooding his chest icily.

“That’s it, Noct. Remember, _**remember**_ ,” Ardyn goaded, grin sharpening incrementally, voice alone seemingly enough to dispel the conditioned wards within his mind.

Noctis lurched forth as he felt the memories ravage his psyche in a blind rush, nails digging into his scalp as tours poured like magma from his eyes, they glowing a hot, cauterizing vermilion that seemed to scorch within his eye sockets. Throwing his head back and ranging it deliriously, the scene shifted as forests emerged from the dark, glowing holograms that passed like a tangible film reel with disembodied voices floating incomprehensibly past. It traversed until stopping short of a glen he remembered, a cathedral ring of trees enclosing a place where four children played delightedly along a glistening, summery stream.

Ir rushed past as the visions changed, the children becoming adults, Noctis in place of himself. Stella and Ravus vanished in blinding flashes of light, leaving Lunafreya with her back turned. “Why did you do it, Noctis? Why did you... _kill_ me?” she wept in such a mellifluous voice, shoulders sloping that Noctis gaped helplessly at.

“Luna, I didn’t—“ Staggering towards her, tripping over misplaced stones in the riverbed and barely catching himself, he strained a hand towards her. Slowly did the apparition turn, an unbearable stench of death suddenly sourcing from her as her dress became mottled with black blood and rot, skin blanching to a sick, colorless pale, hair falling in tangles over her visage as empty eyesockets stared back at him that wept ink and tar. Skin flayed from bone and rotted sinews clung hardly to bone, Noctis scrambling back. The wraith shambled disjointedly towards him, a skeletal and decayed hand extending towards him, tensing into claws. “Luna, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—“

By instinct alone did the sensation of steel goring through flesh register, warm and wet liquid splashing across his face as eyes squeezed shut awoke to his machine blade sprouting with a macabre pelt of viscera and hot blood steaming on its dark steel, Noctis trembling as Luna—no longer a decrepit corpse—seemed lifelike and alive, abdomen slipping down the blade as her weight impaled her further. The blonde’s head numbly lifted and watery, crystal blue eyes shimmered mournfully at him, smiling sadly. “Luna—“ She seemed so forgiving, so—

Her head fell limp, blonde cascades falling damp and dead.

A torrential scream tore from his throat as Noctis wheeled back and threw his blade away that clattered into the dark before fading in a shimmer of light, clutching at his skull and weeping profusely with eyes in their sickly crimson glow, transitioning between the fading vision and reality. A pair of strong hands caught him from behind by his wrists in a vice, Noctis still delirious and weeping as he was dragged against a wall of darkness, a hand clamping upon his jaw and forcing him to look.

“ _Don’t you dare take your eyes away,_ ” Ardyn snarled wrathfully into Noctis’ ear, modulation ragged and guttural. His face flanked Noctis’, towering over him as a malevolent shadow. “Don’t you dare look away!”

Luna’s corpse lay prone upon the ground, the woman miserably aghast and sliding what little strength she had to drag her body towards them, entrails trailing behind her like a wedding train. Noctis was wracked with terrified quaking as she did, grotesquely pale and bruised hands gripping his trousers and hauling herself up with prodigious strength, Noctis feeling the sensation of her intestines and organs press bloody and hot and viscous against his body, hands cinching into his shirt as she ascending further.

“ _DO YOU SEE HER, NOCT? DO YOU?!_ ” Ardyn thundered madly, nails piercing his flesh and drawing blood and tearing open skin, cackling insanely into his ear that almost split his skull. Noctis could feel the trails of inky blood against his cheek, knowing Ardyn had transformed. “ _See what you have wrought!_ ”

Inexorably did her ascension stop with her arms winding around his neck despite Ardyn’s presence, digits digging harshly into his skin in an embrace mockingly amorous. Noctis’ heart hammered into his throat, a cold sweat soaking through his clothing and making it seem as though he’d been lathered in it. Yet, all was inconsequential as with rickety movements did Luna’s face reveal itself to him, eyes of pitch black and mouth bloody smiling at him in a pantomime of the forgiving expression of before. Ardyn grinned harshly against his ear, so hard he could hear the immortal’s teeth grinding in his jaw.

However, the sounds of gunfire interrupted the horror as Ardyn’s mad demeanor was shattered, his hold upon Noctis extricated. “Noct, I got you, buddy!” Prompto shouted as he dashed towards Noctis and wrestled him away from Ardyn manfully, successive shots into his skull shattering the skull plating. The Chancellor fell to the ground in a gory mess, Ignis at their flank as he hurriedly reinstated the chains’ merciless grip upon the man. Like a mannequin was Ardyn jerked back into place as before, in the cumbersome state Noctis had found him in. Bones crackled and snapped from the sudden force of it, some inevitably breaking. But as the immortal looked good as dead, it wasn’t their concern.

The gunman hurriedly propped Noctis against him despite how terribly he shuddered, eyes rolling back into his skull as his eyelids shuttered rapidly, possessing no motor control. “Prompto, he’s having a seizure—lay him down!” Ignis barked at the blond, Prompto doing so in a blind rush, but gently. Ignis sprinted towards them and alighting to Noctis as he rolled his sleeves back. “Keep away from him. This needs to be ridden out.” As he spoke, Ignis removed his jacket and made a makeshift pillow of it, then turning Noctis’ face to the side as so he wouldn’t choke on anything as the younger man convulsed wildly, limbs writhing erratically. Prompto looked distressed as it happened, sweat beading upon his brow as he was helpless to do anything but watch, glimpsing Noctis’ hellion bright eyes at intervals. Ignis clenched his jaw, but it was all they could do until it ended.

Gradually, the seizure stopped after a minute, both men breathing collective sighs of relief. Ignis gathered the prince in his arms after checking Noctis over for superficial injuries, the only ones apparent being those Ardyn had exacted on the prince. Noctis was unconscious in his arms, but the horror from before seemed to have finally stopped. Ignis’ brow creased with worry as black smog seemed to be sucked in a vacuum where the bullet holes in Ardyn’s skull had been lodged, gradually regenerating the damaged bone and flesh in its sable miasma.

“Come, Prompto. Let’s leave before the Chancellor regains consciousness,” Ignis murmured in urgency, the brunet passing the gunman an insistent look.

Flicking his gaze once at the reforming immortal, he shuddered bodily. “Don’t have to tell me twice. Come one—let’s split!”

* * *

 

“Ignis, you mind telling me what the hell happened down there?”

The man in question finished wringing out a washcloth he’d been using to sanitize Noctis’ wounds, draping it over a dish pan filled with water and a distilled tincture that was an old wives’ recipe easily concocted. The adviser glanced over his shoulder to see Nyx with the flap partially pulled back, having been drawn so Ignis could treat the prince in peace. The others were outside on bedrolls beneath the stars.

Discarding a small pile of alcohol wipes and their wrappers, the bespectacled man sighed and made room for the larger of the two, seating himself in a corner of the large tent where Noctis occupied the space parallel. Ignis motioned for Nyx to enter, the flap falling back for the sake of privacy.

“Noctis went to speak with Ardyn on his own, again. I suspect something invoked his powers, and whatever he saw was debilitating—enough so that Chancellor Izunia managed to gain a hold of him and further traumatize him. Prompto came to me worried, so we went off to go find him. He had a seizure, and is unconscious as you can plainly see,” Ignis explained in dulcet, low intonations. Green eyes were cast to the prince, brows furrowing together.

“Fucking Six,” Ulric breathed, gritting his teeth. “Look, Scientia, with all due respect, can we please drop the pretty titles for that fucking bastard? He doesn’t deserve our respect, hell—look what he almost did to Noctis!” Nyx’s voice raised with a bitter passion, nostrils flaring.

“Please, not so loud, Nyx. I think it best if we not alarm the others,” Ignis attempted to placate, which only seemed to stoke the fires of Nyx’s consternation.

“Alright, I get it. I do. But do you really want Noctis around that guy again? I don’t give a rat’s ass if he’s a valuable bargaining chip or walking fucking history textbook. We need to put him down, Scientia. Gentiana should get the Titan to drop the meteor on him and keep him imprisoned down there for good.” Nyx sat unceremoniously back, propping his arms on his kneecaps, jaw working. Stormy blue eyes lay distantly upon the prince, even Ignis able to see how utterly worried the glaive was for the prince. Outside of the Crownsguard, Noctis had known him the best, had been fast friends with the older man. Twirling a stick from outside absently, he amended, “Any idea when he’s gonna wake up?”

“It could be anywhere between a few hours to half a day. It’s difficult to tell when neither of us were there to pay witness to what transpired,” Ignis answered primly, edging his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

Nyx fell silent for a long moment, their interlude of silence interrupted only by the din of chatter and crackling flames outside, of cicadas faraway and the dull roar of beasts. “You know...you don’t have to keep yourself bound up so tight, Ignis. We’re family now, aren’t we? I think you deserve that much,” Nyx said out of the blue, casting a furtive glance at the man.

Ignis smiled wryly, easing himself back and looking relaxed for the first time in awhile. “I suppose we are, aren’t we?” he intoned with a fondness to his voice, a note unexpected. “Even before, I have little recollection of my past. I do remember being a rather young boy, living on the streets with no home, no family. His Majesty happened upon me when I interrupted a motorcade and was too terrified to move. But...he was quite kind to me. I was taken in, given room and board, and told I would someday serve his son. I believe I was too young to realize what that meant, but...I believe life began for me, then. Even from a young age we were quite close, Noct and I.” Ignis’ head canted and his gaze softened upon the prince, almost lost in him. “Even if his revulsion to vegetables leaves much to be desired.”

“Adopted by the king, too, huh? Guess that makes two of us,” Nyx quipped with a chuckle, smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “And tied up with Insomnia’s favorite punk prince, to boot.” Extending his leg, Nyx’s boot toe nudged Noctis’ foot, doing little to stir the prince.

“I suppose we are, aren’t we? The Crownsguard and Kingsglaive aren’t so different.”

Nyx opened his hands and shrugged, cocking a half grin at the adviser. “Ehhh, I don’t know about that, four-eyes. I think us glaives have a thing or ten on you guys and your pampered asses.”

This elicited a soft chuckle from Ignis, the brunet shaking his head. “Perhaps we ought to make good on such a wager, Ulric, and test your theory.”

Crowe snapped the text fold back as she bowed in to the pair and the reposing prince, motioning for them to follow her. “Don’t just sit there, lovebirds—Gentiana’s back. Says she’s got some news we all have to hear.”

Without a moment’s hesitance did both men follow Crowe’s beckon, passing through as noiselessly as they could so as not to disturb Noctis, letting the tent flap furl back quietly. In the glow of the crackling flames, the four of them stood receptively to Gentiana who presided parallel to them, news awaiting to be spoken as she regarded them all with an air of authority.

“I have heeded the Archean’s call, and have divined his will for the Accursed. The Titan shall keep him imprisoned within his cell, and guard over it. As what transpires as it shall, only the king of the stone will decide upon his fate. None else. By the guidance of the divines, may you prevail,” Gentiana spieled, as cryptically as ever. Her voice was still soft, but stronger than what the others remembered of it.

From Crowe’s side did she spot Noctis approach the fire, double taking when she realized Noctis was awake so soon. “Noctis—“ she began, concern evident in the glaive’s voice.

“I’m alright, Crowe, but—thanks,” Noctis said with soft reassurance, smiling tensely before his mien became solemn and shadowed again. Gentiana met his gaze with a pleased smile, inclining her head respectfully before she dissipated in plumes of thin frost, chilling the air for a moment. “Guys, listen: we need to get this plan to bargain with Iedolas off the ground as soon as we can, not later. I don’t know how long it’ll take, or if it’ll even work but...everything’s been going as well as it can lately. We’ve been lucky to get this far, and I’ll admit—it’s felt like one big fluke so far. Not because we’re not capable, but because of what we’re up against.” The prince grew quiet, flames flickering reflectively in his eyes, seemingly lost in thought. “I know I’m...probably not king material right now. And maybe I won’t be for awhile, but...you guys put your faith in me, like how my dad did. I owe it to you guys to walk tall, even if I can’t do it alone.”

Prompto entered his line of vision with a broad smile, clapping Noctis on the back as his arm looped over Noctis’ shoulders. “Hey, what’re best buds for? I mean, your crazy plans have gotten us pretty far. Why stop now?” came Prompto’s chipper reply, grinning sunnily at his best friend.

Nyx rested his arm on Noctis’ shoulder, the younger laughing at the glaive’s gesture. “Sure as hell have made life a lot more interesting. But, hey—gotta get mushy every now and then, right? ‘Sides, we’ll send those Nifs running all the way to the goddamn sea.”

“What Nyx is trying to poorly say, Noctis, is that we’re not going anywhere. No point in turning tail now, at least,” Crowe added, resting her hand on Nyx’s shoulder, leaning comfortably in.

Ignis flanked Prompto, the smile on his face genuine. “And you don’t need my devotion to you questioned, your highness.”

“Hey, guys—lean in! Let’s get a pic!” Prompto crowed as he quickly rifled through his duffle bag and produced his camera, the blond quite the enthusiast despite taking far less photos than he was used to since their escape from Insomnia.

Noctis couldn’t help but laugh as everyone grinned as broadly and goofy as they could before the light flashed, a picture they would later find photobombed by a certain Messenger with a delicate smile adorning her own pale visage.

“...Thanks guys. For everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Bit of a rush edit, but I saw a lot of mistakes and took the liberty of reposting this chapter to make it simply better!
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	10. Building Up For War in Paradise

( **Warning(s]** : M, torture, gore, graphic mutilation, crucifixion]

 

* * *

 

He didn’t know where they had taken him, didn’t know what awaited him. A burlap sack had been hurled over his head, noosed almost to the point of asphyxiation. Manacles had been affixed to his feet and cuffed to his hands, a chain binding them together that almost incapacitated his movements. Why— _why_?! These questions filled the mind of the Lucian king as his Armiger would not come to him, his magic would not perform, and even the daemons inside him were silent. The daemons he’d absorbed, had taken from those they’d been possessing...it were as though everything in him had been silenced. Ardyn grunted hard as the sack was removed in a rush and he was shoved into a cell, bone colliding with hard concrete in a jarring clatter as the cell door was swung closed upon rusted hinges with harsh clangor, footsteps retreating and leaving the king to collect himself in the dark.

 

Ardyn knew where he was, amber eyes blinking owlishly in the darkness and mute light of ensconced torches provided meager light. Their flickering torchlight cast long, desolate shadows through the narrow cell, a dreary chill seeming to cruelly accompany in ought to have felt like a warmer space. So, this was the beginning of treachery? In spite of it, Ardyn numbly arose to seat himself on a raised cot constructed poorly, littered with straw. Staring out into the empty corridor, the man’s jaw set and throbbed. Too much faith, too much… Gods, what did he call it now? Too trusting, perhaps—far, far too trusting.

 

Like a feline’s did golden eyes sharpen upon the sounds of descending footfalls down the stair, Ardyn numbly aware of who would think to dare visit him over something so scandalizing. Through his mane of maroon did he see a silhouette finally block the torchlight, face aghast in betrayal at first before a rather feral smile broke through Ardyn’s brief shock. A hood was removed and Ardyn grinned, teeth too white, too pearly and sharp in the dark.

 

“Dear me, Izunia. First a feast, now this? Rather odd way of welcoming an old friend, but, _ah_ —whatever suits your fancy, nay?” Rising with a trickling rattle of his chains, Ardyn sauntered with an exaggerated swagger to the barricade of bars between them. “Oh, but I imagine the crown must fit quite nicely. Unless, you’re waiting for your coronation.” A viper’s note was held in the breadth of his words, seeming to slither towards the younger of the two.

 

“I didn’t want to do this, but—Ardyn, I was given visions. The Draconian came to me, in my dreams. He showed me what had become of you, of what—of what I can do to still save you,” Izunia spake, his cerulean blue eyes seeming to shine like an ocean.

 

Ardyn’s brows knit together in disbelief, recoiling from the bars as though he’d been burned. All before he surged against them noisily again, metal clanging whilst his fingers curled around the bars like claws. “Save? This is your idea of salvation?!” he spat acerbically, hissing caustically. However, the beast all but fell silent as Izunia slipped his hand over one of Ardyn’s own, the elder’s contracted pupils seeming to dilate and the hard line of his lips faltered enough to slightly gape. Numbly did his head fall, Ardyn moving his fingers to interlace with Izunia’s, jaw clenching.

 

Iznunia never removed his from such a lock.

 

The younger smiled sadly at Ardyn, thumb stroking along the calloused back of his hand. How the mighty so easily could fall. As Ardyn’s head fell, his head seemed to lower all the more, clouding his face in shadow. “I will save you, Ardyn, please...have faith. I know, this isn’t what I intended. But...we have to do as we must. Have faith in me, in the Draconian for we only seek to free you from your daemons. I promise it will be done.”

 

“You don’t seek to free me,” Ardyn said after a long interval, voice not holding more of its former venom, but certainly no less of it. The look in his eyes when his head lifts is agonizing, eyes boring into Izunia with an almost doe-like hurt. The expression was pained, Ardyn’s smile hollow and sad. “Had you...wished to take on my name, there could have been other ways, Izunia. ...Not like this.” His hand shifted to softly interlace with the younger’s, Ardyn smiling tightly.

 

It dawned upon Izunia just what Ardyn meant, the younger male suddenly going cold, but not retracting his hand. He visibly grimaced, but it wasn’t enough to convince Ardyn that it was truly from revulsion. “I am wed to another, you know this,” he says only, frankly understanding the implication.

 

Ardyn’s smile became more hollow as the seconds passed, as if the color that remained was being drained from the very air. “Wed to another, you say,” he repeated monotonously, a predatory sharpness walling between them once more that prompted Izunia to wrench his hand away before some negative consequence might befall him, the hand left behind clamping on the bar until his knuckles blanched. A bitterness and anger welled within the former Savior whom had been promised unto them. Blackening his heart that colored his coronas, Izunia’s face twisted at the horror of what was befalling him.

 

His mouth became filled with inky bile, trickling from the corners of a ghoulish smile, skin paling to an ashy hue, spectral orbs seemed to be embed in dark sockets as the transformation took him. “You need saving, Ardyn! This is why I did this—why it must be done! Can’t you see that?! You’re possessed, changed, a-a monster!” Izunia stuttered explosively, shocking away what silence had been wrought between them. His breathing as stertorous, the light of fear evident in his eyes.

 

“Oh, this? Merely a trifle, Izunia, but it’s rather stunning what saving the world can do, hm? Especially when it wants nothing to do with me. Not anymore, at least,” Ardyn simpered, modulation haunting. He leaned closer, the shadows cast from the bars darkening his face as though he were truly a monster and no longer the man Izunia could recognize. “Oh, but you—the one whom banished the darkness. The mighty scion who was chosen by the Draconian, no less! Ah, this tale will live on through the ages, won’t it? Of the rejected prince of Solheim who rose to greatness like a _phoenix_.”

 

“Silence! Not another word!” Izunia roared, his eyes flaring red; so, he truly had been chosen by Bahamut in his stead. Perhaps not as exalted, no, but a division had been created thence. That another would inherit the surname of Lucis Caelum and come to shape the coming world. One where his legacy would be erased.

 

To think, the Astrals would use the man he loved against him.

 

Ardyn smiled darkly, retreating from what meager illumination there was to light the way between them and into the musky darkness of his cell, returning to be seated on his cot with a propped leg to rest the crook of his arm upon. Wine dark locks spilled over his eyes, Izunia able to make out little aside from the trickling ink-dark scourge that spilled from his lips and eyes. “Go then, Ordained King. Prepare this great spectacle of yours. Gather the masses whom cheered my return, and let them watch. Let your greatness be sealed within the halls of the Citadel.”

 

The hot flare in Izunia’s eyes died down again to their neutral hue, the man appearing utterly remorseful. “Ardyn, I will save you. Even...if the gods do not return your kingship, once you have been cured, I promise you—you will be redeemed. I swear it,” Izunia vowed with genuine authenticity, though it did nothing to stir the statuesque Ardyn.

 

As Ardyn would remain utterly impassive, Izunia conceded his temporary defeat. Turning away, he felt a pair of eyes upon him as he left, phantasmal and strangely attached to his person. And they would follow him the rest of the way.

 

* * *

 

A week would pass before a detail of guards would be sent into the nightmarish dark of the prison, those whom comprised it afraid to journey into the depths at first. When the boldest attempted, it was found the torches usually maintained had been swallowed in a misty sea of darkness, light unable to pierce through. For it were as though this miasma were _alive_. Still, driven by a wont to serve the new king, this bold one trekked slowly down the dungeon stairs and descended into the dark. Mere moments later, the man bolted up screaming and hurled himself past his fellow guardsmen with a metallic clatter, writhing and brokenly screaming as the Starscourge etched its way poisonously across his skin. The man thrashed as his compatriots helplessly watched, till the movements ceased and he was dead.

 

This had sent them running until Izunia’s wife, Gentiana, was summoned to lead them. Of the newly ordained line of Nox Fleuret, surname changed in recognition of what Bahamut had chosen of them, the woman led the way in her pure white veils and trappings and brandishing the Trident of the Gods. And banishing away the miasma with a sudden, violent pall of light were the dungeons largely cleansed of all but its one occupant.

 

“Ah, the first of the Oracles. With abilities I once had. A bit of a spiteful way of fetching a prisoner such as myself, _non_ , dear heart?” Ardyn greeted with a wolfish grin, gazing upon the Fleuret woman whom had become Izunia’s love. And had earned his utmost contempt.

 

How pure she was, how serene. Despite the slight frown and puckering of her brow, her moon-pale visage remained unclouded by any strong suit of emotion, her shoulders remaining back and posture unflappably straight. Without another word, the jail cell was opened and Gentiana stepped through like a human beacon, training the trident on him. Muttering under her breath, Ardyn’s eyes widened as he felt a light burning in the pith of his chest, gasping as he fell to the straw-strewn concrete on all fours, clutching his breast. “What are you doing, you vile witch—“ Ardyn snarled brokenly before the trident’s speared tips were menaced under his throat, Gentiana’s expression infuriatingly unchanging.

 

“Rise, o’ Accursed. The time of your trial has come, as willed in the name of the King,” Gentiana said enigmatically, malachite eyes unflinchingly honed upon his own. With a growl, Ardyn pushed his feet beneath him whilst the chains skittered, and stood. His limbs ached from disuse, but no complaint was uttered as Gentiana honed the spear to his back, shepherding him up the stairs.

 

The guards from before gaped in wonder and awe as she ushered him up the stairs, star-bright despite the blight she directed. Ardyn was stopped and the guards rushed to shackle him further, attaching blessed leg irons and handcuffs that further restricted his movement more than it already had been. Wearing only his shirt and trousers, the former king felt like half the man he’d been before detained. “A trial. _Oh_ , I wonder what sort of kangaroo court you have cooked up for me,” Ardyn quipped with a fiendish grin that none of the entourage dare answer.

 

Feeling the trident nudge insistently into his back, like a crop did it urge him forth, until they were led into the stately throne room. Grand, black-lacquered marble doors hinged open to allow him through with every floor absolutely packed with the court itself, and spectators whom were noblemen and men from all corners of Lucis. At the very throne did Ardyn see Nadir, the Messenger of Bahamut with folded wings and a few others Ardyn didn’t recognize but irrevocably knew were Messengers themselves. Nadir stood tallest and proudest at Izunia’s side, leaning in protectively the closer Ardyn neared whilst the Accursed sneered spitefully at him.

 

Of them all, only Izunia was the one whom regarded him with abject sorrow in his eyes. The rest regarded him as some otherworldly, eccentric beast to be added to some menagerie or other—if their expressions weren’t of ribald condemnation. For Ardyn did not walk with the remorse of a saint for his rejection by the Crystal, but instead with all the vindication and self-established sense of righteousness only a villain could bear. As if what he’d become was calculated and not the screaming fervor of an uncounted lot of daemons.

 

A gavel held by Izunia struck thrice, the audience sitting collectively whilst the guards in unison chained Ardyn in place in a defendant’s pulpit arraigned solely for this purpose. Gentiana hurriedly ascended her way to her husband’s side, creating a vision of the ideal king, of what Ardyn had failed to be in the eyes of the Astrals.

 

Nadir was the first to step forth, his commanding presence drawing all eyes without exception. After all, even Ardyn had been prey once to the power he exuded. “People of Lucis, we have come here to judge the heart of the fallen king. The former king was our Savior, our guiding light through the blight of the Starscourge, whom has fallen and been felled by that which he was ordained to purge from this world. In doing so, Ardyn Lucis Caelum, you have been forsaken by the Crystal and found necessary for an exorcism to expunge your curse. What say you?”

 

“Finally giving me the chance to speak, are you? Goodness, Nadir, any more and I might have been wont to believe we would have never even begun. However,” Ardyn took pause, eyes never leaving Izunia, “these are crimes I must answer for, correct? The crime of absorbing the Starscourge and becoming transfigured by it. For saving myriad peoples and eradicating the daemons whom plighted them. Oh, and what else? The inevitability of what occurred to me? Of the Crystal rejecting me because of it. Or perhaps we ought speak of what truly happened, nay?”

 

Izunia’s brows furrowed hard upon his countenance, as if silently dissuading Ardyn from speaking his mind. As if he were doing all in his power to alleviate this predicament when Ardyn knew he could do nothing at all. For the will of the gods came before even that of kings and sultans, that much Ardyn had learned in his relatively short reign. But, no amount of pleading would shake him from his course. Not when peace was no longer a possibility. Not when peace could only come in the arms of one man.

 

“I saved you ungrateful lot. Squirming and squealing from your mires of filth and daemonic palls. Writhing like maggots in the corpse that gods gave us, corpulent and besotted with plagues for us to discover. Do not feign innocence, Messenger! Do not act as if this were unprecedented!” Ardyn snarled especially to Nadir, the Messenger folding his arms over his barrel chest defensively, angrily. The more he spoke, the more it inflamed rings of gossip and hushed tones behind hands and turned faces, even Izunia turning with bewilderment towards Nadir. “I shouldered the weight of the world! I burdened myself in its ills, cured more people than you know exist, for nothing! For banishment, for abhorrence! Oh, but you must think yourself so very _just_.”

 

The silence that followed was scandalized, Izunia staring hard into Ardyn’s very soul, trying to dredge through the Accursed and sift enough of the Savior to see his childhood friend, to see the man whom had once meant the world to him. Glancing sidelong, it dawned on him how words failed him, could not find purchase in his throat to even reach his tongue. “Nadir, is this true?” Izunia queried in hushed tones, the power in his voice yielding to a whisper.

 

“Not now, my king,” the Messenger murmured in dissuasion, taking a single step forth. To the audience, his voice became a sonic boom of authority. “The Accursed has spoken! People of Lucis, your fallen king sees himself justified in his actions, that he was moved by petty vengeance and seeks no intervention from the gods in the defense of his immortal soul. We came to him to allow a byway for mercy, to direct the hand of the Oracle whom speaks on behalf of the gods to gentle his exorcism. But so fast is he held in malignant snares that more must be done to unbind him.”

 

The judgment of Bahamut, spoken through his Messenger, had just then become crystallized.

 

“For the salvation of your soul, by the goddess Etro must a crucifixion be performed to cleanse you, o’ Accursed,” Gentiana’s gently-spoken, haunted judgment vociferated and chillingly broke through the impasse of Nadir’s conclusion.

 

Ardyn’s face became a study in pale, unholy fury as his eyes and mouth wept ink, a ghoulish apparition that possessed them in the stock-still of reality. That this, their beloved savior, had become this. Rapt in monstrosity he was unashamed of, had allowed him to be consumed so long ago that the moral dilemma of what he’d become and the holy man he could still try to be in dignity had long been overshadowed by the caterwauling of interminable daemons.

 

Before Ardyn could launch into another tirade, Izunia blankly watched as the platform he was on became lowered. Mechanisms in the very floor brought the chain links above the Accursed’s head and raised him higher until he was suspended at least a foot above the ground by only his wrists. Ardyn’s face became bowed and his burgundy mane shadowed it, presenting the false impression of surrender. But, the king knew better. That wasn’t surrender; it was stratagem. Nefarious malevolence that brewed so heatedly beneath the pretense of defeat.

 

Of the twenty-four Messengers he hadn’t seen present, Ardyn limply waited as a dozen of them were outfitted with long, jagged lances beautifully made and dark as tar. Iron-wrought, almost too delicate for their purpose. The atrium they were within became darkly shaded, to the point of a twilight dim. A single, razing ray of sunlight filtered from above seared on his flesh some could see mildly smoking like rain evaporating after a summer storm.

 

Just as Nadir’s own spear manifested in his arm hand, a cruel-looking thing, Izunia placed a hand upon his forearm to wait. “Please, Nadir—my friend, do not be cruel to him. Please, spare him the worst of it,” the king quietly pleaded, only to be met with Nadir’s indifference. Proceeding down the stair, his footfalls were ominously resonant as he strode towards Ardyn.

 

“Those who have been blessed with our instruments of exorcism, come forth. You as well, Oracle,” Nadir instructed, Gentiana following at his feet whilst Izunia looked haplessly on. She cast Izunia a single, remorseful look for not what she was about to do, but in sympathy for how her husband felt towards him. “Pierce his flesh. Expunge the filth from his corporeal form.” Standing at Nadir’s side, the Messenger nodded firmly as she trained the trident upon Ardyn, all before goring it deeply into the Accursed’s gut.

 

Impaled deeply through, when Gentiana withdrew the trident again, after a long moment was it retracted with entrails, viscera, and a font of inky blood spurted upon the alabaster white of her lacy habit. Yet, she was unflinching despite it, watching deadpanned as the flesh gurgled sickly and blood cascaded profusely from the wound. As it was a holy weapon, it inhibited Ardyn’s regenerative factor. Though he did not lift his head still, his shoulders shook as he hacked blood that stained the front of his now torn shirt. Rapidly was the fabric becoming stained, like ink upon parchment.

 

The rest of the messengers converged in a ring around him, lances at the ready. Systematically did they gore him through, to the point that the shirt became shorn off. Ribs became broken and exposed, the entirety of his intestines spilling out and slopping to the ground with no wall of flesh or muscle to keep them contained through the evisceration. Glossy and pitch did those tubes stain, yet even through the cavity opened was no goring spared. Izunia watched in horror, face steadily dying green, as his friend became a literal shell of himself as their prayerful chanting poorly disguised the mauling and worsened the damage. His chest, legs, arms—not an inch of Ardyn was spared, save his face.

 

“Nadir, please, I beg you—end this madness!” Izunia protested above the slaughter, summoning a blade and warping to Nadir’s feet, pounding a fist into the towering Messenger’s back. The celestial ignored him at first, until one of his wings twitched and then snapped open and knocked the wind from Izunia’s lungs and caused the newly christened king to fall back. Heaving for air, roughly did he cough and rasp for words that couldn’t be spoken from so callous a gesture.

 

“Remove the king. He may return when the exorcism has been meted out in full,” Nadir commanded stonily, back still turned as Izunia was collected by a detail of guards despite the king’s futile protests. Ardyn lifted his head, blankly watching Izunia be dragged away even as the younger was in tears, thrashing against his Kingsglaives until his voice was pulled into a corridor to mournfully resonate throughout the narrow confines. Unconsciously were tears shed by the Accursed, dark down his cheeks with his lower lip worrying despite itself. His jaw clenched and a silent sob shook his shoulders despite his lungs being windless and emptied of air in this inhuman punishment.

 

It would be hours before they were done, until the floors of the trial room were coated with a pool of jet black blood that reflected the ceiling and themselves like the darkest mirror. Impaled so many times over, only bone clung the halves of his body together whilst his organs had slipped out, slopping to the floor and creating a burbling, bloody morass of shining entrails at his feet. Nadir raised a hand when their foul work had concluded, bowing his head in a false sense of resolution, as if they had finally expunged the disgraced king. From the peerless shadows did two lesser Messengers appear with a long pale of wood, then a crossbeam half the length of that. The mechanism was lowered unceremoniously and Ardyn dumped in the pile of his own Scourge, his own entrails and viscera. Bodily and dead did he fall, they unaware that he was still conscious at all.

 

“To Golgotha. Crucify him upon the hill, and let the sun cleanse the rest of him. ...For we have done what we can in this world. Only the life after can determine his fate,” Nadir spoke at last, watching of what remained of Ardyn was loudly nailed to the cross by his feet, then the crossbeam was attached from behind by rope. His arms, which had subtly become rigid from rigor mortis, were wrenched forth with some bones breaking. The pounding of mallets as holy nails were driven into his flesh sounded, it hissing from the cauterization between the unholy and the divine.

 

Slowly was the procession gathered, those of the court whom hadn’t fled in some form of horror remaining to carry on in the wake to the hill crowned before their blessed city. The walk was conducted at night, as it had fallen long ago. All had been vacated from the streets, save for the brave few whom would find themselves beaten and coerced to return their homes and to draw their curtains so they wouldn’t have the lingering curse passed on to them. Nadir led it, they soon parting from the groomed, stony streets and finding themselves upon a barren hilltop where the dawn was guaranteed to strike once it came.

 

No words were said as Ardyn was manfully affixed to that hilltop, fastened to ensure his bindings wouldn’t falter. For three days he would remain. For three days would their fallen king be exposed to the daylight to finally cleanse the scourge from his exposed body and then, and only then, would they put his body to rest in a tomb far from the familial catacombs of his ancestors and countrymen. To be forgotten whilst his name would be erased from history.

 

No words were said save for a shielding spell that would keep out intruders from desecration or being exposed to his body and the maleficence that would linger until the time of cleansing was completed. Three days, as Nadir had allotted. Three days of cleansing—especially for those whom had taken part in the exorcism proper—until the burial, and then the erasure would begin. To erase the single proginator of a line that had passed on to Ardyn and to glorify, instead, that of his beloved whom had ascended to become everything he had not.

 

The crowd had long dispersed by the time the sun had begun to crest a faraway horizon, a ghostly smile manifesting upon Ardyn’s bone-white, charred features. His flesh began to smoke as it touched him, he facing it head on as if it were some delightful, needed agony. It was a joker’s smile, his jaw unhinging and laughing hysterically despite the lack of sound, of the empty lungs and empty chest that produce nothing but rattling bones and caged laughter that made no noise. Yet, Ardyn was too delirious in his madness, too absolutely lost within it. There was nothing left but the monster left, and already had his revenge begun.

 

He laughed for his loss, for the irony of a war he’d won but had become the hateful enemy for them to hate anew. Of his love whom had been wrested away and unable to save him, for the last shred of compassion he’d ever face would be stolen from him with no hope of reprisal. For Ardyn knew of how much three days could alter him, of what they could do to the man he hopelessly loved in a world that had banished away the rest of it.

 

 _Three days_. That was all it would take.

 

With the coming dawn did he sublimate beautifully into the caustic sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: I don’t really have too much to say, except I do apologize for how long this chapter took. Between school and roleplaying, I had quite a lot to deal with! Hopefully this was worth the wait, however.
> 
> Also, if it wasn't obvious from the outset, this chapter is definitely one that takes place in the past!
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	11. Empty Words Fall On Deaf Ears

( **Warning(s)** : M, gore, violence]

* * *

 

The next dawn that came was one filled with a great sense of impetus, something everyone in Noctis’ troupe felt. In the day that followed, their plan became hatched and devised around the chaos that had drowned Lucis in the wake of their kidnapping of Ardyn, the chancellor’s kidnapping impossible to keep quelled when everyone had seen it. Iedolas himself had furiously promised retribution for the perceived slight, but counterwaves of dissent hatched among the dispirited people at what had been believed to be the end of the Caelum dynasty as they knew it. Niveus Anima, the installed Cancellarii of Lucis, had been enforcing martial rule more strictly with every passing day. And as far as everyone was concerned, it was a time ripe to take advantage of the instability to leverage it in their favor.

 

Noctis sat upon an outcropping of stone that the Astral Shard loomed over, perilously close to where Ardyn was incarcerated. It was dangerous, he knew. Ardyn already had sought to ruin him when he’d seen the apparition of Luna—that much he hadn’t forgotten. But in a strange way, being so close to his enemy hardened his resolve even more. The man was their bargaining chip, one that would bring them leverage towards freeing Insomnia; at least, that was Noctis’ ultimate aim.

 

“Noct, they’re coming.” Noctis rose from his seat, standing upon the buttress of stone to where Nyx was, then following the older man’s gaze into the star spangled sky. With it so dark and starry, it was almost difficult to see the blinking red light illuminated upon the aircraft’s underside. “Looks like they’re serious.”

 

Jolting back, Noctis shouted for Gentiana to seal the entrance of the prison, which she did before the Nifs would take notice. Floodlights rained blinding light upon them, Noctis shielding his eyes with an angled arm and flattened hand. The wind kicked from its descent was immense, buffeting the trio before its engines cooled upon landing.

 

“Your Highness, you’re quite hellbent on giving us quite the run around, aren’t you?” A pompous, accented voice greeted as a blond, middle-aged man with greased back hair and a thin, willowy face with a foiled, husky body clad in a tailored suit strode towards them. Icy eyes narrowed upon sighting the prince, deeply set and flinty that caused Noctis to take a step back almost in revulsion. “Come now, don’t give me that look. Don’t you remember me, Highness? The Financial Minster of the Interior in Accordo? We met once during a diplomatic mission you took when you were still a boy.”

 

When Noctis remained silent, the man sighed and laughed roughly. “Emmanuel de Acitti, dear boy! Come now, I’ve come a long way just to see you, you know. Specially asked by the Empire, no less!”

 

“Why are you here?” Noctis asked finally with narrowed, suspicious eyes, Nyx protectively taking Noctis’ side with his hand hovering over one of his kukri’s hilts.

 

The man laughed richly. “Let’s not play these childish games, dear boy. A few weeks ago, you happened to have taken someone extremely valuable to us in that adorable little scheme of yours. Tell me, where is he, Your Highness? Return us to him and we’ll leave with no trouble and worry about the Crystal much later.”

 

Nyx placed a hand on Noctis’ shoulder, either a sign of reassurance or a fledgling motion to move the prince protectively behind his back. Either way, it bolstered his resolve nonetheless. “No,” Noctis replied flatly, folding his arms across his chest. “We have stuff to talk about, Minister. You’re not getting the Chancellor back until we can hash something out.”

 

Emmanuel stared at Noctis for a long time before he suddenly tossed his head back and erupted in gregarious laughter, a belly-shaking laugh that saw tears bead in the corners of his eyes. When he finally sobered, finding Noctis glaring daggers at him, he lessened it to chuckling before quieting altogether. “Oh, Prince Noctis, heavens me! Truly, a boy such as yourself surely doesn’t have the mind for negotiations yet. Ah, but let us play pretend. Say I say no; what will you do then?”

 

“Hey—you really wanna mess with the people with two Astrals on their side, buddy?” Nyx challenged, jerking his thumb at the Archeon that gaped noiselessly at them from aloft, lifting the Shard enough to see them. Gentiana herself, though not present visibly, blew a cold draft over the Accordian with a pointed chill.

 

Gritting his teeth harshly, Emmanuel’s hands balled into fists. “Precocious brats!” he hissed under his breath, then fixing a glower on the three of them. Stiffly yanking down the hem of his waistcoat, the MT’s at his sides impassively watching the exchange, with a final adjustment of his tie did he level a seriousness upon them. “Very well, boy—“

 

“That’s Prince Noctis to you, buddy. And you’re gonna treat him with respect, got it?” Nyx interrupted with a firm look trained on the shorter, smaller man.

 

A breath was sucked indignantly through large nostrils, Emmanuel’s face seeming pinched. “Your Highness,” he corrected, grinding the syllables out, “if we are to do this as planned, then you are to accompany me back to Insomnia. ...With a single guard, but no more. That is my concession, else I will leave and we will take the Chancellor back by force.”

 

“Nyx, come with me, will you? I think Gentiana can tell the others,” Noctis murmured, Nyx leaning down for the confidential exchange.

 

Flicking grey-blue eyes at the Minister, Nyx’s lips pursed. “I don’t like it, Noct. It’s two of us against all of them. Not great odds.”

 

Noctis smiled brightly at the glaive, which took Nyx off guard. “Hey, don’t sweat it. It’s us, remember? They’re the ones that should be sweating bullets with us there.” This earned an affectionate hair ruffle from the older man. A gust of cool air seemed to answer them as well.

 

The gaping maw of the airship seemed to be waiting like a famished beast, Emmanuel since having followed the Magitek soldiers to board inside. Though Noctis felt a twinge of guilt at leaving the others behind, it felt reassuring to know he wasn’t alone. They’d understand, and Nyx was one of the best people that could accompany him.

 

Inside it was murky and dark, sighting a staircase leading into a cabin above he assumed where Emmanuel was with whoever was piloting the airship. Nyx followed in lieu of Noctis up the staircase and past the rows of MT’s on standby, hauntingly quiet as the egress whined shut and the airship jerked forth in its ascent.

 

The journey to Insomnia was best described as tense, all parties quiet save for the Minister’s binge drinking that pervaded the quiet audibly. It would be over an hour before they would see the borders of Insomnia, it seeming strange without the Embrace of Etro sustaining the once perpetual dark. Daylight seemed garish upon Insomnia’s city streets, Noctis’ lips thinning at the obvious signs of Niflheim rule pervasive throughout the capital. Banners hung from buildings that lined principal streets, airships perched upon rooftops and MT’s themselves patrolled the streets in high numbers whilst Lucians walked alongside them. It seemed tense no matter how one looked at it, the promise of their installed government being temporary rendered to a total lie. And Noctis couldn’t help but feel responsible for it.

 

“Hey, we’re there,” Nyx ribbed him, jostling the prince awake. He hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep, twilight casting long shadows within the eerily quiet streets, save for soldiers. Must’ve been a curfew, Noctis surmised. He blinked owlishly as Emmanuel set off on his own, first, both men then following suit with wariness at their backs.

 

Across the way from the skyscraper roof they’d emerged on, the Citadel arose against the darkening gradient of the sky with sunlight highlighting it powerfully and framed by the backdrop of the city. It was only then that Noctis recognized the dull sting of homesickness at sighting it, at the last battle he and his father had fought in together. It were as though it had never happened at all with the Nifs having restored it so well for their own occupation. When Nyx cast him a concerned look, Noctis ducked his gaze and proceeded to where he’d seen the Minister disappear into.

 

Once inside, a grand gilt corridor opened up to them, baroque style richly ornamenting the halls with painfully wealthy displays of opulence, knowing then and there they were within the Tower Embassy, a building reserved for foreign diplomats and their ambassadorial offices. Candelabras scintillated above their heads, the prince feeling suddenly outlandish in his dusty clothing and less than optimal hygiene conditions; bathing in rivers and streams with scraps of soap only cleaned a guy so well, after all. Still, whatever impression he had to make would render his appearance irrelevant.

 

Jocular laughter wafted from a cordoned sitting room, a line of MT’s blockading the rest of the corridor with clear direction shepherding them into this room specifically. When Noctis coaxed the door open, the laughter rose in decibels as Nyx and Noctis entered the room, the prince feeling both self-conscious and an antagonistic flare brew hotly in his chest. Niveus Anima was sitting with his feet propped indecorously on a luxuriant desk, Emmanuel seated upon one of two parallel lounges flanked by two comely women and having a brunette pour him another glass of champagne.

 

“Ah, the men of the hour! Gentlemen, welcome! We didn’t get to properly speak last time, hm? What with your ambitious little conspiracy thwarting our rather lovely gala.” Niveus laughed gaily in spite of the venom lacing his voice, of the levity he treated the prince’s apparent crimes. “Please, sit, _sit_! Have a drink, have a girl—whatever you’d like.” Two women in black sheaths giggled as they took both Lucians by their arms, guided to the couch across from Emmanuel.

 

Herded down, thankfully seated next to each other, Nyx and Noctis exchanged a look whilst the escort women leaned over to pour them glasses of champagne and proffer the fluted glasses to them. Noctis awkwardly took his, dubiously considering the spirits and wondered if it wasn’t poisoned. Setting it on the glass coffee table in between them, he let it effervesce in front of him untouched. Nyx, meanwhile, was too happy to down the drink in a few dregs. Well, at least it wasn’t poisoned.

 

Niveus opened his arms and tilted his head back rather smugly, grinning cattily at both Lucians whilst Emmanuel was content to be quiet. “So, you’re here to bargain with that little pawn in your pocket, hm? Well, not in your pocket, but all the same. You’ve got our man, and...we’ve got something you want, else you wouldn’t even be here, right? Cough it up, gents.”

 

Noctis grimaced at how easily Anima patronized him, but swallowed down a venomous retort and his pride. “Insomnia. The whole city. Same deal you were supposed to strike before you decided to invade, instead. You get to keep the outside lands, like you were offered before. That, for Ardyn.”

 

A long spell of silence spanned before Niveus burst into raucous laughter, Emmanuel drunkenly joining him a moment later. He clapped his knee and threw his head back, then quieting enough to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. “One man for an entire city? Noctis—buddy, _kiddo_! That’s one guy versus an entire city of a fair few million, eh? Now, if you threw in the Ring of the Lucii _and_ the Crystal to sweeten the deal, we’d have one! But, you’re not forking either over, are you?”

 

Noctis shot up, face embroiled by anger. “That’s the fucking Chancellor! It’s him or no deal! ...If you knew what we did, what he was...”

 

“What, you mean the whole Accursed, daemonic crap? Yeah, we were keyed in on that awhile ago. Kinda made that apparent at the gala, kid. We did see the whole thing, yanno.” Noctis’ nostrils flared as he breathed hard, barely containing his rage towards the infuriating Cancellarii. Watching Noctis with hooded eyes, he grinned crookedly at the prince, eyes unblinking. “Yeah. We knew. Shocked, kiddo?”

 

“Fuck you!” Noctis roared, fuming hard at the Altissians. His hands balled into fists, then belatedly realizing Nyx hadn’t said anything. Turning slowly, he saw Nyx slouched over, snoring loudly from what could’ve only been a tranquilizer in the drink. They had spiked it! “Nyx, hey! Nyx!” Noctis jostled the glaive, both women having since vacated the room; all of them had. The very air was growing dangerous.

 

“Ah, ah, Noct. _Language_.”

 

Noctis froze when he heard that voice, body quaking instinctively as it seeped and crawled down his spine, molesting his very sanctity at its proximity. Noctis’ knuckles blanched as his eyes dilated fearfully, turning inexorably to see Ardyn himself stride with exaggerated steps into the room. “W-Wha...How the h-hell...” he stammered with a shuddered whisper, feeling his mind raze with fearful cold that buzzed to the point of paralysis. He couldn’t even think of activating his Armiger, to summon his weapon, warp away—something!

 

Emmanuel had since fled the room with the booze and women, leaving a very smug Niveus in his wake despite the inky, heavy atmosphere that came with Ardyn’s presence. “Niveus, why don’t you leave us to converse in private, hm? And...do close the door on your way out,” came Ardyn’s honeyed command, smiling with fake pleasantry towards the Cancellarii. Niveus rose from the overstuffed chair with a creaking slide of its feet, bowing mockingly as he left the room as Ardyn commanded. “Now, where were we?”

 

Noctis skirted around the lounge fearfully, fingers curling around a vase on a table at the lounge’s back, brandishing it like a weapon despite how useless it ultimately was. With the light smile still suspended on his features, Ardyn lifted an unimpressed brow, not remarking on the futile action as he neared Noctis with a slowly advancing stride. “Stay the hell away from me!”

 

“Noct, sit down. You’re looking quite weak, you know. Any more and you might faint.” Without further urging, Noctis’ feet stumbled as he staggered back into an ornate chair near the end of a room near a stately set of bookcases, the action not conscious as automatic, breathing hard and with his eyes wide as saucers and unblinking on the chancellor.

 

“Better. Now then,” Ardyn hummed as he sat neatly in a chair near Noctis’, crossing his legs primly, “about this deal you mean to strike. What was it: using myself as a bargaining chip? That won’t exactly work anymore, will it, dear prince? However, I do have a much better idea.” Pouring himself a glass of Altissian merlot, Ardyn swirled the contents in the thin glass before taking a long sip, pausing to savor the flavor.

 

Noctis’ breath came out stertorous, loudly clashing through the elegant airs Ardyn wore effortlessly. Adyn seemed to take notice of Noctis’ panic, canting his head with hooded, considering eyes. His knuckles blanched as his digits clenched on the armrests, shallow breaths uttered louder the longer Ardyn stared. Chuckling richly, Ardyn suddenly rose and genuflected before the prince, gazing serenely at him. “Yes, I have a much better idea. Made much more convenient by you being here.” Manipulating one of Noctis’ hands to unfurl, Ardyn took it delicately upon the cusp of his hand.

 

Taking it beneath Noctis’ digits, he curled it enough to place a delicate, sensuous kiss along the knuckles. “We’ll keep you for a time, and—“ he chortled to himself, grazing his cheek against the back of Noctis’ hand, “in return, your friends shall bring the Crystal and the ring.”

 

Clenching the hand Ardyn had taken into a fist, he wrenched it away. Though it took a tremendous swell of courage to gather, Noctis pushed himself from his seat and stalked away to where Nyx lay unconscious and checked his pulse; anything to give an illusion of self-control and freedom from the sway of influence Ardyn boastfully wielded. “Not a chance,” Noctis ground out from under his breath, determining that Nyx looked visibly well. The prince’s features hardened angrily, trained upon Ardyn who had since stood again. Yet, nothing was more daunting than his flippant levity. That stony casualness that seemed impossible to shake.

 

“Oh Noctis,” Ardyn directed with a lifted chin, the air becoming deadly still, the addressed stock still. “I do apologize; did I give the illusion of this being a choice? Please...I do beg your pardon.”

 

Noctis barely had a moment to realize what was happened when Ardyn streaked to him in a warping haze of hot scarlet, of crackling embers, his lungs stuffed with ashes and cinders that begat watering eyes whilst Noctis found himself pinned to the wall. Now, he really cursed himself for leaving the ring with Ignis and Crowe, even if it had been for safekeeping. How unlikely the emergency had seemed then! He sputtered as Ardyn trapped him manfully, that wolfish grin apparent in its return in what could only be seen as the Chancellor’s roguish triumph.

 

“How the hell did you escape?!” Noctis snarled brokenly, lashing out however he could despite how caged Ardyn kept him. When a free hand became so, Noctis summoned his Engine Blade and gored it through his abdomen, viscera and inky blood dribbling down the artfully ornate grooves of the blade. Ardyn only looked down at how it severed his intestines in twain, mouth twitching at the corner in remote disgust but nothing more.

 

Stiffly canting his head, the false pleasantness from before manifested as Ardyn merrily took hold of the blade and skewered himself further along it, protruding viscerally through his back, Noctis’ brows furrowing in disbelief as blood squelched and splashed him across the face with every inch of closure. “So wont to spoil the fun, aren’t you, Noct? Not even to keep it a mystery? Very well; I’ll make it simple so even _you’ll_ understand.” The grin became more devilish, more aloof as he leaned in uncomfortably close. “I was bound in those same chains before. And I escaped them all the same. Now then, the business we had at hand?”

 

The ramrod illusion of himself that feigned so much stability vanished in that instance as Ardyn held a hand to Noctis’ chest, splayed upon it whilst his long neck craned and lips crashed into Noctis’ own. Uttering a strangled sound of surprise, the prince shuddered coldly as he felt his gritted teeth pried open with a clever tongue. In what was supposed to be a malicious encounter, he felt one of Ardyn’s hands climb up his side like twisting vines, encouraging deeper contact that left the prince paralyzed. When he felt a tablet upon his tongue, Noctis’ eyes widened in panic despite the invasive warmth that slipped to the palette of his mouth. Lips crashed together again, forcing him to swallow so that he wouldn’t choke.

 

When the vile blood sluiced to his hands, it seemed like an alarm that drove Noctis to manfully shove Ardyn away despite the drunken blurriness of his vision, of his staggered gait. The recaptured sword vanished in an airy, illumined impression of itself before disappearing. Feet shuffling left and right, as though he were swaying in tandem with a ship of uneven keel, Noctis groped for something to act as a crutch in his strange affliction. “Wha—What did you…do t’ me?” Noctis slurred, a hand on his mouth as an acrid bile rose in his throat.

 

As black smoke was practically vacuumed to where Ardyn had been pierced, the man clasped his hands behind his back and strode leisurely towards the prince, a dark, smug expression crossing over the facade that had reaped him so many rewards. Craning down towards the male steadily losing consciousness, Ardyn smiled peaceably. “Why, I stopped the fugitive Lucian prince’s desperate vendetta against myself and my contemporaries. Imagine what the broadcasters will have to say to your dear friends, Noct! Of the mourning prince with no regard to his life who attempted assassination. To take the lives of Emmanuel and Niveus, as well.”

 

Noctis’ knees buckled and he clung to the chase lounge like it were a life preserver, eyelids drooping with impossible heaviness. “You...fuckin’…. _bastard_.”

 

“ _Ah-ah_. Now, be a good boy and sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Ugh, finals & college can really key a girl up! At least Ardyn got something out of all the waiting, huh? Wink wonk.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	12. Too Tempting Not To Touch

( **Warning(s]** : T+, drug addiction, abuse, some mutilation]

 

* * *

 

Wild eyes opened suddenly, a staggered intake of breath resulting in the prince bolting upright and hacking from how minimal his air intake had been. Noctis blinked away the harsh profusion of light, hands feeling the thin, papery sheets of the ramrod-backed bed he’d been resting on. Resting his head in his hands for a long moment, when he lifted it again, he was greeted with a cell no larger than a dog kennel. The air stung with an over saturation of sanitized chemicals and ammonia, Noctis’ eyes set to water. Coughing away the worst of it, the hypersensitivity to the smell and light seemed to gradually fade.

 

Behind metal bars, Noctis withdrew his feet from the whitewash concrete floor that bit coldly into his soles, squinting through the gloam. It appeared to be a prison block, other cells too dark to see their occupants, if there were any. Slouching over again, he sighed, suddenly cognizant of the dull, aching headache pounding against his skull. Noctis had to get out. It was all he knew, and wakefulness seized him as he sprung from the thin bed, inspecting the corners for some weakness. With his magic, Armiger, and elemancy completely nullified, it was all that could be done.

 

An hour passed. Then another. He fidgeted, pacing lines in his cell—up and down, with little deviation—until it seemed as though the silence and timelessness would drive him mad. There were no windows, but he could practically feel the red, red moon glaring down at him with its unholy light. Suddenly braced against the bars, he shouted with all his might, “Who the hell put me here! Come on, show yourself!” Noctis’ voice resonated emptily, grit teeth bared.

 

“You would be wise to be quiet, boy.” Noctis bristled when he heard the intrusive voice, even if a reactive facet of him was just glad it didn’t belong to Ardyn. The rough, languorous tone revealed to belong to the grizzled visage of Verstael, the stocky, balding man ruddy as if from exertion. “Your worth as a research subject will only last you so long. Cooperate, and you may find yourself alive long enough to serve us.”

 

“Like hell I will,” Noctis snarled at the man, knuckles blanching the harder he gripped the rusted bars.

 

“In time, Prince Noctis. It’s only a matter of time.” With that, Verstael shuffled away, leaving Noctis to uselessly glare daggers into his retreating back.

 

When the silence reigned again, Noctis kicked the bars harshly, glad they’d at least let him keep his steel-toed boots that nullified any damage. A test subject. Just what the hell did that even mean? Were they going to dissect him? Fold back his skin and pick at his insides? Noctis shuddered in revulsion at the thought, staring into the empty ceiling with these thoughts clouding his restless mind.

 

“You’re suffering from withdrawal. It’s the old Luna Tranq, isn’t it?”

 

The sound of a woman’s accented voice startled the prince, jarringly propping himself up as he warily balled his hands into fists, rising to his feet and moving towards the barrier. When a hand suddenly waved in front of the bars, Noctis bit back an oath from the unexpectedness of it. “The hell?” he cursed, craning his vision to where the hand retreated into the cell adjacent to his.

 

“Yo, hello, over here. No, I’m not just a figment of your imagination, don’t worry.” Pressing his face to the bars again, he craned enough to see a brunette with tousled, pixie-cut hair and emerald green eyes. She grinned at him, though her outlandish crimson mantle and entirely scarlet ensemble seemed odd in the prison, especially when she was so heavily ornamented. “Strong, silent type? Nice, nice. Anyway, I’m Agni. Agni al-Khoury. You know, of Solheim’s recently extinct dynasty? Okay, maybe not recently, since Niflheim invaded us forever ago, but still. You know why you’re here, right?” When met with more silence, Agni continued speaking dauntlessly. “You’re here because you’re a Crystal-chosen. Same as me.”

 

“Wait, can you just...back up? I thought Solheim’s Crystal was destroyed. How could you have been Chosen?” Noctis retorted dubiously, raising a brow at the woman. From the prophecy he’d heard, there would be a King of Light to save the world, but...her? Were there more?

 

Agni laughed dryly, flippantly waving at him. “Relax, cowboy.” _Cowboy?_ “We’ve all got Crystals, you know this. Alright, sure. I’m not some prophesied hotshot. But Crystals still choose who they want to serve, kinda like family dynasties and all. ...Please tell me I don’t need to run through this. Didn’t you learn this in some cushy, monk-taught school or something?” Agni cocked her head and tossed him a wry smile, brows raised almost comically.

 

It took a bit of effort for Noctis to not crack a smile of his own. “Alright, you’ve got be interested. I do know the story. No need to lecture me, if that’s what you’re so afraid of,” Noctis said with a slight smirk coloring his words. Agni seemed to smile at this, as far as he could tell in the dim dark. However, his mind hazily drifted to her first statement. “The Luna Tranq. What is that, anyways?”

 

Agni grew quiet, arms limply reclined on the bars as she stared down, as if into the rough concrete. “...It’s just a cocktail of a bigger drug. The thing that’s overtaking Lucis, like it did Solheim—least, what little was left outside of Gralea. It...it destroys everything.”

 

Hearing Agni speak caused Noctis to go cold, stiffly raising his hands as if blood coated them, wide-eyed as they trembled. Unsteadily, he gripped the metal despite how strong he thought he was. A drug. That’s what would undo him. Some fucking...drug as effective as cinching a collar around his neck. In Lucis, before everything had fallen apart, he’d known people who had been drug users. Addicts, even. Good people who had surrendered themselves to it. Most of the time, they were no different than anyone else. But, it was what it could do to people when it was no longer sustained that scared the hell out of him.

 

“What...are they doing to us?” Noctis asked in a harsh whisper, Agni gazing sidelong at him in his periphery. Maybe it was a rhetorical question, but an answer was one he still sought.

 

“...They’re breaking us. Sure, us being deader than door nails won’t do them any good, but is it any better? They broke down the Fleuret siblings ages ago. Look how they turned out. Loyal because of fear and no where else to turn.”

 

Noctis’ face shot up, boring into the older woman’s pleadingly. “Wait, you know them? You know Stella?!”

 

“Whoa, calm down, cowboy. I’ve only been here for not even a week. I’ve heard of them, sure, but know them? Not a chance,” Agni said placatingly, noting his distress. Spurred if only slightly by the withdrawal. “I guess it’s not far off thinking you knew them? ‘Least, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

Noctis nodded blankly, staring stonily ahead. Outside of his murky perception, he heard Agni swear an oath and retreat away from the bars, Noctis’ brows furrowing in confusion when she did. However, all became starkly clear when a pair of burly prison guards flanked by MT’s made a loud, cacophonous approach on the catwalk. Unable to react in time, he suddenly felt the sting of a blow dart embed in his forearm, its tranquilizing agent acting quickly. Noctis slumped noisily to the ground, wincing as his head struck the corner of the shelf the paper-thin bed was situated on. Only able to really swivel his eyes to the door, crumpled and prone did he watch as the prison door was wrenched open and one of the men seized him like a rag doll by his arm and hauled him up.

 

One of his arms was kept in a firm lock and Noctis was shepherded drunkenly through the narrow egress, forced through as a note of panic fluttered in his breast. “T-The h...ell _are_ y—ou takin-g m...e?” he blearily demanded, words slurred sloppily together. His eyelids drooped heavily, and Noctis could only make out the outline of Verstael.

 

“Come now, Prince Noctis. We only have the best of the future in mind, and I think you’re apt to bring us there. As all your Crystal-bearers are destined to,” the head scientist answered enigmatically. “You ought to be thanking me. The Chancellor will not be present, and I’ve taken special precaution that he will not find you easily.”

 

Verstael jerked his head towards some female attendants whom were also present, dressed in sterile off-white as Noctis’ own were. Uselessly, he watched as a loudly cursing Agni was suddenly silenced from the blowgun, hearing her crumple loudly to the ground inside. Roughly, those women snatched her like they had Noctis, the brunette unable to even raise her head, and Noctis’ throat was becoming too parched to do so much as ask after Agni to see if she was okay. Though strong-willed from the outset, he knew they’d be put through hell.

 

Separated like chaff from wheat, Noctis was harshly thrust into a tiled room that reeked of chlorine. Somehow, he managed to stand without swaying or falling over, Noctis’ clothes, boots, and undergarments harshly stripped off by those orderlies in their face masks, availed bare before jettisons of sudsy water assailed him from all directions, a wonder that he didn’t gag and sputter. With dirt, grime, and dried sweat washed away, blasts of warm air moved the condensation off of him, feeling curiously like a car in a car wash. When dry and clean, those same orderlies returned and changed him into underwear and an inmate’s slate gray jumpsuit, seeming to only steel home the reality of his predicament.

 

At the very least, he felt calm. Maybe it was the same drug as before.

 

…. _Luna_.

 

It brought such strange serenity in him.

 

Herded into another room, Noctis caught sight of Agni, the woman clad in a similar inmate jumpsuit as him, devoid of the scarlet mantle and its fiery plumage; it almost looked strange to not see her in it, but with how things were, they didn’t even have a choice. Being so far away from Lucis meant the Crystal was far from them, as well. Though, at least Noctis had assurance that is was where they wouldn’t be able to find it.

 

Verstael approached Agni with a perverse leer in his eyes, appraising the tall, shapely woman with a lecherous grin. Agni was taller than even Noctis, but the male couldn’t contain his outburst at the scientist. “Hey! Leave her alone, pervert,” Noctis managed to grind out, only to be suddenly struck on the head with a truncheon. Verstael watched on blandly, Noctis wiping a streak of blood that had dribbled down his face, only to glare at Verstael defiantly. The man nodded as the orderly who had struck him was cleared to do so again, Noctis gagging as he was struck in the stomach, doubling over in pain.

 

“Stop, no, please— **stop**!” He heard Agni shout out in spirited protest, she held back by her own orderlies.

 

“Fucking brat prince. You think you own the damn world, doncha?” one of them snarled at him, bludgeoning his sides, face bashed into the tile as he was roughly beaten. Crumpling to the floor, the masked man began kicking him in the gut, even as Noctis curled into a tremulous fetal position with pain wracking him. The other whom had attended to him did the same, bludgeoning him with blood spattering and messily streaking the floor as the prince’s body convulsed through the beating, angled oddly from each force of impact. After what felt like ages, Verstael chuffed and gave an airy wave of his hand for them to stop, though not without both getting in a last, savage blow that left Noctis curled into himself and shaking like a leaf. By his hair was he hauled, Noctis crying out in pain as he was roughly jarred and forced to stand again.

 

Hobbled over, favoring his left arm that he was sure was broken, Noctis’ breath came out rattled and blood dripped from his lips. Verstael took one of the truncheons marred with his blood and mockingly patted the side of Noctis’ cheek with it, the prince shying away as his flesh still smarted. “You’ve given us enough trouble, boy. Regis is gone, remember that. You’re ours, now. You and your Crystal will both seek to make this empire great, as Solheim will be reborn through us exactly as the Emperor will have it be.

 

“Now then. Have the prince taken back to his…new cell. You two,” Verstael directed at the female, blonde orderlies, “have Miss al-Khoury prepared for surgery. Mm, it should have been done long, long ago, but better now than never.” Agni appeared to be drugged again, Noctis helplessly watching as tears spilled from her green eyes and her protests from before were totally silenced.

 

Roughly was Noctis handcuffed from behind, manacles on his ankles that stung his skin through the pathetically thin slippers they were forced to wear. Led through a hallway off the one they’d been taken down, Noctis was hurled roughly into a concrete cell, devoid of a window. Tumbling to the ground, he watched as a heavy steel door was shut behind, its sole slat that allowed them to peer inside shut with clangorous finality.

 

Blearily, Noctis raised his head and attempted to sit up, only to wince with every movement. Blood had since crusted over, and it seemed as though no one would be treating him. Spying a sink installed as part of the toilet, the sole fixture in the whole of the bland room, Noctis hobbled over before the pain became too much to even walk. Sinking next to it, breath heaving, he glanced up and allowed a hand to grope its way up and swat the faucet on, the cool rush of water satisfying to feel on bruised skin.

 

Through an achingly slow process, he peeled off half of his jumpsuit and attempted to scrub away as much dried blood as he could, a process slowed by how much pain he was in. Yet, the tranquilizer from before hadn’t entirely worn off, reducing it to dull, warm throbs if he was careful to limit his movement. After what felt like a solid hour, strands of cobalt hair damp and still clung wetly to his skin. Noctis began to feel at least somewhat better despite how much he didn’t want to move from that spot. Zipping his jumpsuit back up, shutting off the tap, he was only just then aware of how bitterly cold it was. Cold, but also desperately exhausted. How long had he been awake? How long had it been since he’d been kidnapped like Agni said? She said she’d been there at least a week, but to him, it felt much longer.

 

Feeling his eyelids droop to the point of no return, he let them sink close and black out.

* * *

 

As most of his time was spent in solitary, Noctis was learning to give up on the notion of measuring the duration of his stay since coming, let alone entertaining ideas of freedom. Every attendant, guard, scientist, or handler that found him were all masked like beekeepers and indistinguishable one from another. Purposefully, they were conditioning him to accept a state of delirium as the underground prison had no windows to the outside and clocks were nonexistent. No one spoke, or if they did, it was in a way he couldn’t fear. Losing time, utterly isolated, Noctis was growing too accustomed to his perpetual state of madness. Even when he attempted to act out, even when he flailed and swore, severe beatings silenced him and his bird-like attempts at cleaning himself were all that kept him sanitized.

 

Twice a day he received a tray of food slid under the door, and he was too beaten into submission to not return them or concoct some means of tricking the warden into manually entering the cell and maybe assaulting them, or beginning some short-lived escape. Relief only came with the tablet that came at the beginning and end of the day; those pills that numbed him, and prompted him to sleep for hours at a time.

 

At least Ardyn wasn’t there. Though most nights were dreamless, those he did were populated by nightmares. Of people around him dying in excruciating detail that awoke to Noctis screaming until he was hoarse, then sobbing profusely. Except, there was no one there to calm him. No one there to vent to; no Ignis, Nyx, Stella—no one.

 

One day, he tried waiting by the door. Not to engineer an escape, or hope for some kindness. When the flap of the bottom opened to deposit his breakfast, he thrust his hand through the door before they could stick the tray through. “Please, just...touch it. Please,” Noctis whispered in blind desperation. The orderly beyond it paused, seemingly puzzled. However, when a jolt of electricity zapped his hand, Noctis winced and retracted it with the tray shoved through and hastily closed again.

 

He was going mad. With no human contact, no one to talk to, Noctis could feel his sanity practically slipping away.

 

Slumped over the tray, he eyed the pill. A plain white thing he never really considered, always gulping it down without question with how it mercifully numbed the worst of his loneliness and pain. And that’s exactly what Noctis did, nearly choking he was so desperate to enact its effects. Sprawling out on the cold concrete, he stared listlessly into the ceiling, feeling the world around him melt away.

 

Turning his head to the sudden appearance of a tall silhouette, he felt himself jolt up and inhale sharply when he was who was in there with him, Noctis tearing up. “No... **no**! What the hell are you doing here?!” the prince shouted brokenly, voice cracked and hoarse with disuse.

 

Only when he focused better, even as Noctis skittered into the corner fearfully, his guard lowered when he saw how nonthreatening the Chancellor looked. “Gods, I’m really going crazy. I’m imagining you here; I’ve lost it!” Noctis laughed in a daze, grin hollow and shuddering like a leaf.

 

“So, this is what they’ve done to you, Noct?” Ardyn stated dreamily, Noctis’ stricken expression faltering and the hands clutching at his skull lowering. The taller and broader of the two stalked towards him, then squatting before Noctis.

 

Though the prince should’ve known better, should’ve guarded himself and resisted, he could only blearily watch as Ardyn removed his mantle from his shoulders and draped it across the enfeebled prince. Yet, it was warm with body heat and satisfyingly weighted on him, Noctis uncurling his fingers and drawing it more over him, engulfing his smaller form like a blanket. How paralyzingly similar this had been when their own situations had been reversed.

 

By the Six, he just stopped caring. Days of weakness, abuse, and sheer loneliness propelled him into the man’s arms as he almost toppled Ardyn over from the force of it. It was no better than a fly trapping itself in a Venus Flytrap’s maw, but he just didn’t care. Clinging around his neck, burying his face into it, Ardyn chuckled and smiled wryly as he embraced Noctis back, his musculature surely trapping the young man. “I could snap your neck if I wanted. I could stab you; burn you. How conveniently must you deliver yourself into death’s arms, Noct?” Ardyn murmured darkly, light-devoid eyes amused. That didn’t stop him from stroking through those midnight blue strands, now did it?

 

“Go ahead. I don’t give a fuck,” Noctis hissed back venomously, opening his eyes somewhat as he turned his face into Ardyn’s neck, disguising it as a nuzzle. Opening his lips, he sunk his teeth in as hard as he could into the meat of Ardyn’s neck, tearing away a sizable portion of flesh that he spat out once he forcefully extricated himself. Ardyn’s arms still open, he smiled mockingly and glanced in unison with Noct at the blot of viscera and pooling blood starkly sat upon the concrete. Scourge-black blood messily stained Noctis’ lips and chin and cheeks as he glared defiantly back at Ardyn, the man pursing his lips and shaking his head.

 

Standing, he seemed to completely ignore how swiftly his own cascading blood stained his white, pleated dress shirt black. Tapping his chin, Ardyn considered Noctis’ room, seeming to study it. “So, this is where Verstael has deigned to lodge you, hm? Terribly barbaric, wouldn’t you say? I had wondered where you had disappeared to all of a sudden, dear prince,” he observed, gaze not yet meeting Noctis’ cerulean own.

 

Ardyn’s mantle still on his shoulders, Noctis finally said, “What’re you gonna do?” as if trying to secretively goad him into some contention against Verstael. Ardyn had an affinity for him, that much he knew. One he intended to take advantage of at every moment.

 

Turning on his heel and clapping his hands together once, Ardyn wagged a finger and Noctis and tsked. “Why, Your Highness, I’m appalled! You don’t truly believe I’d turn against the good doctor, now do you? That would be simply preposterous, scandalous!” Feigning shock, Noctis only gritted his teeth and glared hatefully at the man. Ardyn’s levity then fell and he regarded Noctis coldly. “No. I think I’ll let you worm yourself from this little hole you’ve burrowed yourself in. Tit for tat, _nay_?” He smirked fiendishly before making towards the door, not even having to open it before he dissipated into a wisp of thin, blackened smoke.

 

“ **FUCK YOU!** ” Noctis roared, hurling the tray of food to splatter messily on the door in the Chancellor’s wake, the tray and its contents clattering to the floor loudly.

 

All before it spanned into a vacuum of silence. All before he was alone again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Thoughts: In case anyone was wondering just who Agni is, she’s from the 2012 & 2015 tech demos we saw that demonstrated the Luminous Engine. Since it’s the engine used for FFXV, why not include her into the story? I personally think she fits in rather well.
> 
>  
> 
> Anyway, hope you all enjoy this chapter!
> 
>  
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	13. Let Us Heal

( **Warning(s]** : T, drug use & withdrawal]

* * *

 

It was still bitterly cold when Noctis was forcibly awoken again, curled in a fetal position in a corner of the concrete cell in order to conserve body heat in the otherwise bitterly cold room. The soles of his feet, toes, and fingers displayed a deep blue from the chill that couldn’t be abated by some means of fire magic; whoever had canceled the connection to his powers had seen to that. Fitfully was he roused, his veil of darkness lifted when unheard footsteps clamored to him and took pause, lifting him jarringly by the bicep and surely eliciting what would amount to a brutish bruise. Noctis blinked in confusion and appeared bewildered and groggy as he was shepherded towards the door, then jerked to a stop by the masked orderly and cuffed—the prince genuinely surprised that they were allowing him that much freedom.

 

Maybe it was because they were breaking his spirit more than he realized.

 

From the dim confines of his cell was he thrust into the bright florescence of the corridor beyond, cold floors still harsh on bare feet and raising goose-flesh on exposed skin. Noctis felt so cold; miserably cold as if he had wandered the frozen wastes of Niflheim. “Where...where are you taking me?” he slurred in his exhaustion, blinking slowly as he was jerked around, led down a hall where the lights seemed to grow darker and the conditions danker. Cold accompanied a damp floor and sour mustiness that seemed to hitch in his very throat, Noctis feeling motion sickness from that and temporary deprivation from the drugs they’d been giving him.

 

The orderly didn’t respond before the blare of a loud, pitched buzzer caused the prince to wince from the sensory overload, a barred entrance sliding open and taking them into a spartan interrogation room. Alertness arose from a shock of panic Noctis suddenly felt, unable to muster the will to protest as he was manhandled to sit down and shackled to the table via a ring the cuffs’ chain was hooked upon. Ensuring that it was secure, the orderly then shuffled from the room and shut the door clangorously behind him, seeming to echo with dissonance before an overwhelming weight of silence beset him.

 

His thoughts were anything but a refuge. Uselessly wriggling his wrists, Noctis felt bile rise in his throat. How long had it been since he’d been given his last dosage? Slowly sinking to rest his chin on the cool table, it was a balm to how sick he felt; if only somewhat. As he didn’t need a mirror to know he was likely as ashy and green from queasiness as he felt. No, wait—how long had it been? A coherent train of thought was difficult to wrangle, though however long it’d been, it felt like ages.

 

Minutes ticked by, loudly enough that it felt as though they rattled away in his skull. His eyes sunk closed, limply resting his cheek against the metal that was cool only for so long, a thin veneer of sweat soon accumulating; he hadn’t even realized how feverish he was.

 

Half an hour must’ve worn by then, Noctis fighting the climbing urge to wretch upon the floor. He dry heaved a few times, breathing hard as his forehead rested on the table’s edge and bit into the skin. Though, there was nothing to wretch, was there? Forcing himself to vividly concentrate on breathing, Noctis let that be his focus until someone remembered he still existed.

 

He jolted and nearly banged his head on the table when the door opened soundly again, two MT’s preceding Verstael until the stout man managed to walk through, raising an unimpressed brow at the miserable state Noctis was in. The young man blanched at the sight of him, a faint tremble unconsciously taking to his skin.

 

“What do you want?” Noctis rasped, only just realizing how dry his throat was. Realizing how much they’d be talking, his stomach twisted with dread. Verstael nodded sharply to an orderly that seemed to manifest with a water skein, hoisting it for Noctis to greedily suckle from like a caged rodent. When he’d drunk his fill, feeling slightly better, was he able to face Verstael with a set jaw.

 

“We found something out about you, Prince Noctis. Something...we believe would behoove you to know.” Verstael folded his hands on the table, continuing when Noctis made no motion to interrupt. “Tell me: have you the faintest idea what occurred twenty years ago?”

 

“I was born,” Noctis replied with a flat monotone, gaze still firmly affixed to the man. His teeth grit audibly.

 

A slow, mocking smile pulled back the sunken, wrinkled complexion of the elderly man ghoulishly. “And what of your mother?” he goaded, eyes eerily transfixed on the prince.

 

“She died. In childbirth,” Noctis answered stonily, grinding his teeth together.

 

Verstael grinned broader, eyes widening to saucers. “Yes, she did! In childbirth. But, you’ve never dared question the circumstances of her death, no?” He held up a single finger, Noctis’ brows furrowing. “When you were conceived, boy, a ceremony was conducted. But no minor feat. Your father, truly the most ruthless Mafioso-King in all of Lucis’ history, sold you to the daemons—to Etro—in a sacrifice. At the cost of your mother’s life and your free will. Have you never wondered why you have Etro’s Sight, dear boy? Truly, at all?” His lips curled superciliously and wily.

 

“You’re lying!” Noctis bellowed back, almost lunging across the table but was manfully restrained. An easy feat given how utterly weak the prince had been reduced to be. “My father—he’d never do that! You’re lying!”

 

“How shortsighted you are. Believe it or no, your purpose will exceed beyond merely being a Crystal-chosen. Yes...your usefulness is at its nascence, prince.”

 

Noctis slowly sank back into his seat, disbelief wearing away the grit defiance he’d worn just a moment ago. A...ceremony? Though he’d known for years that the Underground of Lucis was rampant, never would he have thought his own father as some sort of...kingpin. His eyes drifted to the side, brows working together. Maybe, maybe it wasn’t so hard to believe. Noctis’ formative years had always been spent away, his father distant at best—but still an undoubtedly good man. Even though Noctis had never felt prepared to take the throne, even though the fate that awaited him in sustaining the Embrace of Etro filled him with preemptive dread. Maybe this was why?

 

Tenebrae’s own mythos saw the story of the Eyes of Etro as something gained after experiencing a near-death experience. Lucis, he didn’t even know the story. Even so, Noctis felt his very blood curdle at the thought of it, at the story beholden to Lucis he’d never been told.

 

Maybe this was why.

 

He needed answers only Verstael was available to give. For now, at least.

 

“What do you plan on doing with me?” he asked, keeping his voice submissive and subdued. Noctis had to know, somehow.

 

Verstael’s smile seemed to fall, but it was not with dismay. “And why should I be the one to tell you, young prince? I have already said enough. No, no...this is enough. You will see, boy. You will see.” The Minister said no more as he rose from his seat in a slow flourish, leaving with his troupe whilst the single orderly remained, Noctis watching blankly as his only means of an answer strode through the door as easily as he’d come.

 

Manhandled again, Noctis was treated rougher this time and felt the nausea and disorientation return with a vicious force. Vertigo grayed his vision for a long moment before it settled again, shoved through and almost tripping hard over the threshold. Weakness. That same, crippling weakness from before that made him feel like a pathetic excuse for himself. Months ago, he and his father had fought for and defended the Crown City together. Now, he was barely a husk of the strength he’d wielded then.

 

Hurled into his cell, Noctis’ body slammed hard into the concrete, having forgotten his cuffs had been undone. Groaning from the painful recoil, he numbly watched as the solid steel door mechanically wound shut and he was trapped in again, though when he picked himself up again a few moments later, there was some relief when the trap door at the very bottom opened and saw a tray laden with food pushed through that Noctis greedily dove towards.

 

To his desperate relief, a pill was there. Blandly colored but the grateful vessel to his only method of coping. The prince gulped it down without water—as he had for weeks now—and then motioned to shovel as much food as he could into his starving mouth.

 

Minutes later, the tray polished off, he shoved the tray through the ingress and sprawled on the floor, limbs akimbo. Peace. Peace and warmth seeped into his very bones, blinking languidly yet exhaustively. How long would it be until the effects would wear off again? That the world would become cold and solid and callous beneath his fingertips? No...he didn’t want to know. Just sleep.

* * *

 

When Noctis awoke again, his body felt still, cramped, and cold. Groaning as he curled into a fetal position, the prince’s brain pounded against his skull and he felt a rush of stinging heat and pain. The light, dim as it was in his cell, was enough to exacerbate his migraine. And as always, time eluded him. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep, or when he had, probably having blacked out into a dreamless one.

 

There was a loud, clangorous knock on his door as Noctis swiveled his head blankly towards it, confused. Orderly or higher up, no one ever knocked before entering. In too much pain to answer, he listlessly watched at another masked orderly stepped through, then closing the door behind them. However, the closer they came, the greater Noctis’ shock was. Their silhouette blotted and blurred, becoming taller and broader and more finely dressed.

 

Noctis was too shell-shocked to move, remembering their last encounter and what Ardyn had promised to him. Of how it was all up to the prince to devise some sort of escape, to extricate himself. Even more so, all he could think of why Ardyn would be there was to torment him.

 

The Chancellor’s face seemed drawn and faraway, no greeting or insult to pass between them as Noctis remained in place, at once too bewildered and uncaring to move. Maybe it was because he was rapt with befuddlement as to why the older man appeared almost...worn down. Grim, even. It contrasted highly with his clownish theatrics Noctis was used to, not having seen him like this since before Ardyn’s capture or during their little talks in that makeshift prison. That wounded vulnerability that stood in perfect parallel to the immense betrayal the man had suffered.

 

Noctis was strangely still when Ardyn genuflected before him, propped by an arm and sitting partly upon his knees as the older man remained enigmatic while taking his face by the chin. “...Whatever happened to letting me deal with this on my own?” he queried softly, Noctis’ voice hoarse with disuse. His face was turned in profile on both sides as Ardyn scrutinized him, fedora shading his eyes that added to the grimness of his expression.

 

“Please be quiet, Noct,” Ardyn murmured distantly, seeming to stare through him. His lips were pursed, Noctis still even then.

 

Until frustration gripped him and Noctis seized Ardyn’s wrist in a vice. “The hell are you up to? Sizing me up to dissect for later?” he hissed harshly, glaring hatefully at the Chancellor. Ardyn regarded the motion with despondency, then wrenching his hand away before Noctis could clamp his grip more firmly. Surprisingly strong for someone who had been devastatingly weak for weeks now.

 

“No, Noctis. I’m afraid not,” he answered, voice worn and subdued.

 

Noctis was clever, though. As the vale of fog on his mind lifted, realization dawned soberly. Propping on an arm on a raised knee, unable to look Ardyn in the eyes at first, he focused only on the man’s hands. “...It’s Izunia, isn’t it? He must’ve gone through something similar,” Noctis guessed, intonation low. Glancing back at Ardyn, his deduction seemed right as the man’s brows furrowed and his jaw set.

 

“Three days after my exorcism, all whom attended were made to undergo rites to cleanse them. Izunia’s was particularly long and...arduous, as I’d come to learn,” Ardyn explained slowly with a nod, still remembering Izunia’s distraught face as he railed against Nadir during the procession. All because of what the messenger believed was between them despite how unrequited it’d been. “He wasn’t himself for quite the time after.”

 

“Right.” There was nothing more to it, though little seemed to stop Noctis towards gathering himself on his knees and gingerly peering to gaze in those dull amber eyes of Ardyn’s. The man gazed back for a long moment, all before he closed the gap between them and inexorably rested his forehead on Noctis’ brow, eyes sunk closed and allowing only their quiet breaths to regale away the silence.

 

Noctis’ gaze turned downwards, still perplexed by Ardyn, by how harshly they vacillated between clear cut antagonism and this intimacy that was too strange to define. But, it was quiet, and while within Ardyn’s aura, he felt comfortably warm. They remained in this peaceable silence, more docile than anything extant between them before.

 

In an aching moment of removal, Ardyn’s forehead was replaced by a partially gloved hand that caused Noctis to blink in surprise. No incantation was spoken as the migraine seemed to evaporate from his mind, his limbs feeling warm and flooded with mobility after being clenched by the chill. Just as Ardyn began to rise, Noctis stopped him by clutching on his sleeve like a child.

 

“This doesn’t change anything, does it?” It was a blunt question, but both men seemed to equally understand. Lulls meant nothing when a storm still raged.

 

Ardyn smiled to himself, gold eyes recapturing some of their capricious mischief. “No, it does not, Noct. You shall hurt me, and, I suspect, I shall hurt you.”

 

Noctis relinquished his hold on Ardyn’s sleeve as he smiled ironically to himself, chuffing airily as it seemed as though the strangest sort of stability and strength settled over him. All due to the man that had seen his life thrown into the ether and invited chaos into every facet of it. This man who he should hate with every fiber of his being, who he should loathe, brought on the strangest sense of clarity.

 

“Yeah, we will.”


	14. We Make Our Own Walls

( **Warning(s]** : M, graphic violence]

* * *

 

“Alright you two, this way.” Hunkering low to the ground, clad in full Kingsglaive regalia, little of her was immaculately kept left. Crowe army-crawled through a high line of hedges that overlooked an enormous Niflheim base, one of dozens scattered throughout the whole of Leide. Her uniform had been tearing in places, matched and mended with scraps of cloth from months of wear and tear. Crowe’s skin seemed perpetually coated in a matte veneer of dust, grime, and residue from perspiration on the hot battlefronts. Prompto and Ignis, her only traveling companions, shared her fate whilst the Glacian barely touched base with them.

 

“Are you quite certain this is the way we should go, Crowe?” Ignis inquired, similarly crouched over but choosing more of a crawl to keep his pace faster and less dusty. The brunet came to the older woman’s side, she scooting over just a smidgen; they’d been working together spectacularly well through the months.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure, four-eyes,” Crowe asserted with a wry smirk before using her hands to gesture at several points within the fortress. “Now look. They’ve got four generators powering their MT control tower, same as the last few bases. I warp in at the most vulnerable point, cause damage, then create a distraction for you two to enter through. Set off some explosions—come on, we’ve done this before. We shouldn’t even have to go through something so routine.”

 

Ignis grew quiet for a long moment, then sighing as he untangling himself some from the bush’s clingy branches and needles. “Were Noct and Nyx’s lives not on the line, it may not be. However, they are, and we’ve barely a shoddy picture of where they might be.”

 

Both were silent until they heard the shuttering of a camera, the duo peering over their shoulders in unison. Prompto was behind them, aiming his camera like a sniper’s crosshairs at them and not the fortress itself as he’d been prudent in doing; chronicles for the sake of some semblance of bookkeeping to send to the Crystal’s keepers whilst on their travels. Realizing he’d been caught, Prompto sheepishly began putting it away. “Oh, uh—sorry guys,” the gunman laughed nervously. Though both turned away in unison, Prompto sighed guiltily. They didn’t know, they—they _couldn’t_.

 

Prompto still vividly remembered the time of Gladio and Clarus’ deaths, of witnessing the light fade from the swordsmen’s eyes. Sprawled on the ground as he phased from listening on to Crowe and Ignis’ conversation, slowly did he raise the band around his wrist connected to the fingerless glove he wore, at the barcode that glared at him. To the uninitiated, it could’ve just been some edgy statement. To people as discerning as both of them, it practically screamed of his origination as an MT. Prompto had fought for that freedom, one that had come with a steep price and filial devotion to his father whom had charged him as a double agent. Sordid, but his vocation in this life.

 

Though, hell—he was one of them, too. The gunman hadn’t felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes, pouring so blankly that the blond scrubbed them away before the others would see. The red light at the top of his camera was blinking softly, his brows furrowing at the sight; the daily transmission of photos sent in order for his place to be kept. All in order for the enemy (him) to be two steps ahead (behind him).

 

It hurt. For the freedom he fought so hard for, this hurt more than he could bear. The mission fostered since boyhood had been garlanding thorns around his heart and only just now were they tightening.

 

“Prompto? Are you quite alright?” Ignis had since crept from his place, hunkered low as both were set to strike. However, there was an element of flintiness that glared from a catch of light on his glasses, though Prompto mustered a smile to dissuade it—glad that it was too dark to see the trails of pink burning down his cheeks.

 

“What, me? _Naaah_ , come on, guys! Don’t we have some Niff tail to kick?” came his jocular reply, forcing a sunny grin that seemed his trademark. Ignis nodded in reply while Crowe simply lifted a quizzical brow, then ignoring their exchange completely.

 

“Alright, we’ve got the plan. Let’s move—“ Crowe was interrupted when the dull thunder of a roar sounded close, jolting to her feet. “Change of plans!”

 

Behind them, an enormous Cerberus lumbered towards them. Massive in height, the three-headed daemon was pronounced by its igneous claws and hellion bright eyes, maws unhinged and gaping with an inferno that wafted volcanic over them. Crowe was the first to rear into action, the seasoned glaive warping away so that she could begin casting a volley of icy spells that ran counter to its native element. Blazzara was first cast, a manifestation of icy winds buffeting the Cerberus and dislodging its low stalk. A burbling roar sounded as the attack slowed its movements incrementally, Ignis vaulting to Prompto’s side.

 

With both guns manifested, the gunman fired a preemptive series of shots, Prompto keeping his movements erratic despite how halfhearted it was. His heart sunk to realize that this months-long goose chase for Nyx and Noctis was his fault, his fault—

 

“Prompto! Stay by me! Cover me as well!” Ignis commanded, though not unkindly. Daggers drawn, in an elegant abstraction of movements was the adviser able to land critical blows at the Cerberus’ Achilles’ heels in the fore, barely avoiding the searing sweep of its paws that could’ve easily Burned him. Dust was kicked in the wake of the attacks, Crowe’s spells finishing their salvo before she resorted to warp strikes instead.

 

Ascending high aloft, the brunette glaive shouted as she was suspended and cast Blizzaga on the daemon, it pitching a screech and attempting to leap high enough to snatch her in one of its maws. In a mess of her brown-haired tangle, Crowe managed to avoid the worst of the spell whilst Prompto and Ignis were mildly strafed, but wise to keep their distance. To Ignis did she alight, the pair standing back to back and preparing a combined offense together.

 

While Prompto delivered a maelstrom of bullets to distract the daemon, Crowe and Ignis warped across the breadth of its necks and allowed for Ignis to slash at least one of them clean through, Cerberus squealing like a pig in a baritone pitch that only seemed to rise in volume as the blood steamed from contact with its flaming innards. Charred smoke drifting around one of its limp heads, the wounds naturally cauterizing despite how dead it was. The remaining two stood upon quivering legs, the pain driving it into a berserker rage.

 

“W-Wait—Crowe, Iggy!” Prompto bewared in alarm, frantically searching through his pockets. Finding the Ethers he’d scrounged up earlier, he chucked both at the pair. With their situations as limited as they were, and completely unable to purchase provisions from virtually anywhere due to the intense surveillance, they had to be utilized with care.

 

No sooner had he that the Cerberus heads unleashed an outpouring of intense heat and magma, Prompto frozen as he steadied his gun. Crowe and Ignis both had seemed to have sustained injuries in the sudden onslaught despite Crowe’s continuance of casting Blizzard, her capabilities as a Red Mage serving them all well. Ignis was barely able to connect hits with his daggers, their scope too shortsighted compared to a sword or something with longer melee range.

 

Mustering the courage to return to the fray, Prompto have a valiant effort, giving it his all. The battle ensued for far longer than any of them would’ve wished for, strain exacting upon them all as each came near to the threshold of unconsciousness before their own willpower drove them from that precipice. Their salves and potions were used sparingly, conservation as dire as the need for survival. And so, they fought on; through the sulfur and singes, it was only then that they were able to emerge victorious.

 

Cerberus collapsed in a heap to the arid ground, crushing thrush grasses and smoking like a pyre as it dissipated into plumes of ashes and smoke. The trio breathed hard, utterly expended as even this seemed more strenuous than their dogged escape from Insomnia and the barest hardship it had felt like since then.

 

“Uh, _guys_ —“ Prompto’s voice pitched in warning, “Niffs at twelve o’ clock!”

 

“Oh crap,” Crowe swore, casting one last look to the fortress waiting to be taken. Crowe grit her teeth and spat a loogie into the dirt, grinding it beneath her heel. So winded were they that phlegm seemed to coat their throats unpleasantly.

 

“We have to go—we don’t have a choice!” Ignis murmured lowly, grouping towards them. “Unfortunately, we’ve been spotted. We cannot remain here.” Guiding Prompto by the shoulder, the blond anxiously peered over his shoulder, a squadron of heavily armored vehicles cresting the hills nearer the bottom of the valley. Their spotlights ominously parted the darkness that gave them only so much cover. “I know of a place we might find refuge. However, it might pose a risk.”

 

“Look, we don’t have many options here, Scientia! Just—go! Lead us, but we can’t stay here!” Crowe shouted as she broke off into a sprint, the long-legged adviser taking off in tow with Prompto exerting a bit more effort to keep up, still winded from the battle. Though his throat burned from harsh intakes of breath, the further away they became from the fortress and its armies, but more relieved he felt.

 

Though, it did little to unburden his heart of the treachery he was committing by simply being in their company.

* * *

 

They ran for what seemed like hours, taking dodgy paths erratic and enough to thwart their enemies’ attempts at tracking. Beneath bushes and in ditches did they cower, the trio simply amazed that they didn’t possess heat radar that could’ve undermined all their efforts and foiled their escape. But whatever blessing it was by the stars above, they were simply relieved to find way to what Ignis had been speaking of. From where they hunkered, near a sparsely populated road, by the cover of a barely rising dawn did they see what appeared to be a gas station and its outpost, Prompto slightly relieved though anxious as to why they were here.

 

“Mind telling me why we’re here of all places?” Crowe hissed as they remained crouched, a brief succession of vehicles whizzing by. “I thought we weren’t supposed to be in civilian territory—because of the Niffs and all.”

 

“One of His Majesty’s former guard resides here with his granddaughter—one Cid Sophiar. Cor Leonis came into contact with him after we spirited the Crystal from Insomnia and he’s been made aware of our present situation,” Ignis explained, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

 

“Aw man, looks cozy. I mean, what harm could there be in cleaning up a little and resting before we head off again?” Prompto queried hopefully, Crowe shaking her head at the blond’s oblivious optism. She seemed as exasperated as the situation entirely was. Ignis, however, cracked a small smile; of the group that remained, Prompto was a rare example of a person that could bring a genuine smile to the adviser’s lips.

 

Crowe sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You do realize Drautos had been faithful to the Lucian line for years, right? Then he betrayed us. How is this Cid going to be any better? For all we know, the guy could phone any Niff buddies the instant we step through, the second we let our guard down, and we could be in straits as bad as Nyx and Noct.”

 

Prompto pursed his lips, then piped up again. “Y’know, I think—you’ve got a point, but...we can’t treat everyone we’ve got on our side like this. There are people we can trust, but, making them feel like traitors could see us really alone, right?” Ah, how damnably hopeful those cornflower blue eyes of his were.

 

Crowe sighed, waving her hand in accession. “Gods I hope you’re right...” she murmured under her breath, then rising to stand. “Come on. The coast’s clear and I’d rather get across before we wind up in some idiot’s headlights.”

 

All of them sprang to their feet and bolted across the street, mindful to steer clear of any lights that could blow their cover. Taking refuge alongside the lee of the main garage, from within they could hear the lazy twang of a banjo and garbled yodeling from a radio broadcast, Ignis signing for them to enter through the back. Like shadows did they remained crouched near to the ground, sidling as quietly as they could before rounding a corner and blinking back a sudden, harsh profusion of light.

 

A flashlight shone upon them, Prompto raising a hand to block out the worst of it and seeing the slouched silhouette of what appeared to be an elderly man. “You brats done skulkin’ around in the shadows or are ya goin’ to come inside? Been keeping me waiting damn long enough as it is,” the old man groused, lowering his flashlight with a click. Gesturing for the to follow, they exchanged looks before Ignis confirmed who he was with a nod, it clear this was the Cid whom he’d spoken of earlier. Gingerly advancing inside, they saw a few cars were in various stages of repair whilst Cid himself busied himself by opening a car’s hood and inspecting what was inside. “Funny to think there were any loyal Kingaglaive left. Thought they all betrayed Reggy for some extra pocket change.”

 

Crowe furrowed her brows, folding her arms. “A good segment of them stayed behind and fought, and several more are guarding the Crystal, you know.” Though, she didn’t refute what the old mechanic said.

 

“That so?” Cid challenged with a hard laugh.

 

Before it would come to an exchange of blows, Ignis stepped between them to speak. “Cid, Noct’s been kidnapped. Him and Nyx, another glaive who accompanied him to Insomnia when they attempted deliberation. We’ve managed to ascertain where he may be, but much of the information has not led us as far as we’d hoped—“

 

Ignis was cut off with a slamming of the car’s hood, Cid’s very back tense with anger. Then, he whirled around, appearing absolutely livid. “And you wait two fuckin’ months before tellin’ me, boy?! The hell kind of right hand to the future king are you? This shit’s been in the news for weeks and you come back from your damn camping trip to tell me what I already damn know? The hell’s wrong with you?” Visage ruddy and jaw working, he waited with balled fists for a response.

 

Ignis took the berating with a bowed head, a hand then sliding his glasses up his nose as a reflexive motion. “...I apologize, Cid. However, I simply did what I believed was best. That coming to you was only to be done in the case of an exacting emergency, and… I believe I judged wrong.” Though he wouldn’t say it, there was an acute hurt in Ignis’ eyes from the verbal thrashing. To suggest he hadn’t been doing enough for Noct, the boy he’d been employed and fastidiously loyal to since boyhood, hurt worse than any wound sustained.

 

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sorry, Your Highness. The hell did you think I offered you sanctuary for, boy? So you could dry clean your damn suits before hoppin’ on your merry way? Aw hell—just get th’ hell outta my face. I don’t want to see a lick of any of you brats ‘till sun up, y’hear me?” Cid fumed, waving them away and stormily returning to his work on the car. Ignis bowed away, the first to leave while Prompto fumbled in suit; Crowe had long since vacated this particular garage.

 

“Hey, Iggy—look man, don’t listen to him alright?” Prompto consoled as he jogged to catch up to Ignis and fall in stride with him, a grim cloud hanging over the brunet. In the middle of the parking lot, he stopped, Prompto almost bumping into his back.

 

“No...he’s right, Prompto. I should have notified him weeks ago.” He sighed as his head bowed again, until his composure broke and admissions poured through as broken whispers. “I should have done something, put a stop to them going to Insomnia alone! Had I, they might be here, whole and safe not—beyond my reach. Cid is right, Prompto. It’s my duty to protect the king at the cost of my life—“

 

Ignis was stopped from his tirade as Prompto seized him in a hug, feeling the adviser tense up at first before he returned it and buried his face into Prompto’s neck. “Iggy, just—listen to me. We all messed up. We should’ve done something but—we’re doing something now. We’ll get him back, okay? Promise.” Over Ignis’ shoulder, he couldn’t help but notice Crowe leaning rather coyly against the caravan trailer while chatting up a rather sporty looking blonde, who appeared to be another mechanic in Cid’s employ.

 

After a long moment, Prompto offered a shy smile while Ignis swiped a few tears that had trickled down his cheeks, attempting to appear as regal as he normally did. “Dreadful thing, the dust of the desert,” he murmured absently, poorly disguising them. However, at Prompto’s reassuring smile, he offered one of his own. “I suppose all we have ahead of us is to keep moving forwards.”

 

“That’s the spirit, Iggy!” the blond cheered, all before he clapped Ignis on the back. “ _Heeey_ , why not make one of your super infamous dishes? I haven’t had real food in weeks and it kinda blows eating kills and Cup Noodle all the time, yanno?” He playfully ribbed Ignis who laughed softly. To Crowe he called, “Heeey, Crowe! You and your date wanna join us for dinner?”

 

Crowe unscrambled herself from her lean and threw Prompto a humorously scandalized look, which the blonde women she’d been chatting with giggled to. “Really, Prompto? Way to ruin the subtly!” she shouted back, though the glaive could barely suppress the grin on her face.

 

The blonde behind her, clad in a beige, form-fitting and durable jumpsuit unzipped to her navel that sported a black tank top underneath and ball cap with Hammerhead’s logo proudly displayed, came up from behind and seemed enthused at the offer. “Gosh, darlin’, ya’ll serious about that? ‘Cause it’s been awhile since I’ve sat down to a dinner in real good company.” Crowe couldn’t help but smile at the curly-haired blonde. Taking her by the arm, both women took their places around a fire pit near the trailer, putting their feet up on one of the empty ones that wouldn’t be used, anyways.

 

Ignis had since begun prepping the grill, loading its bottom sink with coal and lighting an even flame that flared before cooling to a smooth diffusion of smoking coals. Prompto, meanwhile, was scrambling to amass a needed collection of ingredients that would ultimately become hamburgers that all would be eager to enjoy.

 

It didn’t take long at all until the hamburgers were ready for the four of them. Cindy Aurum—who revealed to be Cid’s granddaughter—was splendid company to have around them. Though their topics of conversation were not as light as they could’ve been, it didn’t seem the time nor place to truly indulge it.

 

“It’s been real quiet ‘round here lately. Folks don’t really go out anymore when there’s the Niffs bucklin’ down hard. And the moon’s been gettin’ real ominous lookin’, too. Nuthin’ good has come of it, I’ll tell ya’ll that much,” Cindy admitted as her hands curled around a tin cup of a brew of Ignis’ specially brewed tea, the woman’s green eyes transfixed on the flames. Crowe sat near, looking worried for the mechanic. “Paw says it’s been makin’ folks do all sorts’a strange things. Stuff he wouldn’t even repeat to me.”

 

“Heard word of it being cults. We’ve seen it done a few times that people are sacrificing other people in order to commune with the dead; to bring them back. But all they’re doing is summoning daemons to possess them,” Crowe explained, eyes darkening. From between the seats both women shared, Prompto spied their hands bridging the gap and clasping tightly together. Cindy nodded, expression appearing worried.

 

“It’s… Yeah, it’s dark stuff,” Prompto said finally, not wanting to recall what they’d seen. He brought his legs to cross at an angle on his seat, pulling the blanket on his shoulders closer towards him. Though he felt full for the first time in awhile, with the promise of a long, hot shower to come, that feeling of foreboding and guilt wouldn’t leave him. The gunman had taken more photos since coming; of the garage, the caravan, and of them recently. And, as expected, the faint red light flickered as the transmission was enabled. Prompto felt a clout of guilt through it all, at the picturesque reprieve he was ruining.

 

Ignis, while he’d regained some cheer before, studiously kept his gaze on the flames and seemed statuesque. As though he were lost deeply in thought. Then, his eyes switched to Cindy. “Excuse me, Miss Aurum?” When she glanced at him, he continued. “If at all permissible, might I use your phone? There’s someone I wish to contact before we retire.”

 

“Well shoot, ‘course you can,” she agreed with a wide smile. “I’ll give ya my cell though. Reckon you wanna avoid Pa ‘til he comes around. Shouldn’t take long, though. He’s a real grump but he’s got good intentions.”

 

Ignis only nodded at that, murmuring his thanks. As Cindy handed him her cell phone, he took it and retreated from the light of the fire pit. Who he would contact and what about was anyone’s guess. Prompto guiltily glanced down at his camera, shuffling to put it back in its case. “Hey guys, um—I think I’m gonna go to bed. I’m bushed, and busy day tomorrow, right?” he said with a sheepish smile, shrugging off the blanket and retreating inside the dark confines of the caravan and not even waiting for responses from the others.

 

As if he’d get any sleep, however.


	15. As the Banks Began to Break

( **Warning(s]** : M, abuse mentions, drug abuse, rating change due to sexual content, character death]

* * *

 

“Dad...astrals, anyone—please, help me.”

 

It seemed as though these timeless days melded together, blurring and distorting. Sometimes, the monotony was broken by beatings that bruised and took too long to heal. Other times, he thought he saw Ardyn, or Stella, or Nyx—even Agni, even though their faces were blurring and becoming indecipherable. Noctis clung to the memories he had, though with every tablet he ingested it felt as though more of him was lost. Muscles were atrophying, and even pacing in his Chocobo stall-sized cell brought him to exhaustion. And much of the time, he slept. Uncomfortably, fitfully, and plagued by nightmares and prophecies. His eyes glowed more, and the dead passed by even though he was too listless to acknowledge them. They came, they went, and the light from his eyes faded to their dull, hopeless hue.

 

His head blearily turned to the door as the lower flap opened, brows furrowing as he saw, instead of the usual bland foodstuffs and drugs, only a scrap of paper and sloppily scrawled pencil marks like chicken scratch. Reaching for it and reading the words, all it said was, _Stay clear from the door_. Puzzled, he took a place next to the cell door frame and waited, knocking on the thick metal tentatively to make sure.

 

Dull shocks of sound thundered beyond the door, Noctis watching in amazement as the cell door fell by the threshold and clangorously crashed to the ground whilst a haze of hot smoke wafted through, sulfur strongly scented.

 

“Come on, Noct, we’re bustin’ you outta here,” a familiar voice sounded, stepping through in a hazy silhouette of what appeared to be a prison guard uniform.

 

“Nyx? Nyx!” Noctis shouted in adulation and sweet relief as he threw himself around the older man, embracing him tightly around his neck and clinging to a real, human form. He was warm and familiar and Noctis almost didn’t want to let go. Nyx hugged back just as tightly, somewhat disturbed by how much more thin Noctis appeared and felt to be from months ago when he was relatively healthy.

 

“Come on, princess—you stink and we got a train to catch,” Nyx quipped as he parted the embrace, the prince honestly reluctant to do so, though the urgency of escape soon pressed upon him. “We don’t have much time, either. Gentiana’s stalling them and I think we might’ve started a prison riot on the lower levels, but we’ve gotta get going.”

 

“Wait—“ Noctis urgently stalled, clutching Nyx by his arm. “Agni. We have to get Agni, she’s—she was next to my cell when I first came, before I got locked in Shu. She’s like me, Nyx. We’ve gotta help bust her out.”

 

“You mean the pixie-cut chick with the green eyes? I think she kinda got ahead on you there,” Nyx said with a grin, nodding his head back that Noctis’ gaze followed.

 

Fairly unsurprising, though amusingly, Agni wielded fire and solar magicks expertly at the MT’s that were storming down the narrow catwalk. Crying out as she flipping one over the railing and into the riot’s chaos below, she turned on an exasperated but smug heel and shouted, “Hey! You two lovebirds done with the sappy reunion or can we kick ass and bust out of here?!” Furtively glancing over her shoulder at an MT rushing her, she wheeled back and blasted an inferno of a Flare at those at their backs, punishing in its heat that fused some together in the intensity. The brunette smirked, seizing both men by the hands and dashed headlong down the hall. “Come on, I saw Genti over here—I think it’s safe to say she’s clearing a path for our sorry asses.”

 

Noctis seemed somewhat bewildered, his joints sore from the sudden frenzy of stimuli and chaos. On the catwalk parallel, one of the orderlies was tipped over the railing by raucous prisoners to dive headfirst into the building fires. Its inferno flicked on the trio’s faces as they gaped down below, smoke rising and coating the ceiling in a smoky diffusion. “I think they’re gonna blow this place up! It smells like gas!” the prince shouted over the clamoring prisoners barreling their way up the higher levels, roughing their way through the MT’s and wholly unprepared prison guards.

 

“Oh fuck,” Agni swore as she turned to the place ahead of them, a daemonized troll in heavy armor balling its fists and beating them on its chest like a gorilla. Turning to Noctis, she pushed him forth with a smile. “My powers work, so should yours. Give it a shot, cowboy.”

 

Noctis swallowed nervously as he searched for the power that had been missing, the emptiness of months before ebbing away as his eyes suddenly flared scarlet, to life. His Engine Blade was conjured effortlessly, the prince roaring a deeply repressed battle cry as he charged with abandon before hurling his sword at the lumbering cave troll’s gut. Warping in a streak of cobalt and ashes, Noctis struck home despite how weak the attack felt; predictable, considering how much his strength had atrophied. Though, the adrenaline that surged in his veins was better than any dosage of the drug.

 

The troll caterwauled at the blow that drew blood, swiping an enormous appendage to bludgeon Noctis against a wall, the prince grunting hard from the pain, his reflexes stunted. “Damn it—“ he cursed, slumping to the ground. That was until the beast sized him up and Noctis allowed the lull to make him appear prone, breathing shallow and raspy. Its foul breath wafted over him, all before Noctis lunged forth with the Blade of the Mystic in hand, impaling it through the daemon’s throat and allowing the blood to spray on his person. Filthy enough as he was through the months, as sloppy as his slowly-regained fighting style, Noctis watched as the enormous cave troll burbled in the last throes of death and plunged over and cleaved the railing, the screech of metal sounding as its enormous weight ruptured through.

 

Noctis’ breathing was stertorous as he barely caught his breath, Agni trotting over and offering a hand to haul the prince up. His weapon evaporated away, the woman slinging the exhausted prince’s arm over her shoulders. “You did good, princey. Now, we just gotta vacate this joint before it blows us all to smithereens.”

 

Nyx gave Noctis a cursory pat on the back for his efforts, knowing how much it’d taken from him. The glaive didn’t want to even begin to recall his months of torture, or ask after what Agni had endured. Now wasn’t the time. Lost in his thoughts for a good second, he almost collided into Agni who suddenly stopped before an observation point, Agni passing on Noctis to the glaive as she pilfered through, sticking as much medicinal paraphernalia as she could on her person. “Hey, Agni, the hell are you—“ he asked after her pocketing a large canister of Luna.

 

“We can’t quit this shit cold turkey, Nyx. We do, and there’s a very real possibility we could die—all of us. Trust me, I know. I lost a lot of family to this shit and I don’t intend on losing my life on behalf on these smug assholes.” Agni’s expression was grim as she departed from the tower somberly, not waiting for the glaive and prince. Both men exchanged looks, but Noctis’ seemed to encourage Nyx to trust the woman.

 

Their reverie was broken by a sudden stampede of prisoners, all able to see they were heavily infected by the Starscourge and macabre in their affliction, grotesquely deformed and hideously leathery like goblins sent through a furnace. Just as Agni was preparing another spell, the witch was cut short by a sudden flurry of glacial winds that froze through the mob with an icy crackle. They then shattered into a squall of snowflakes, dispersing on the hot, arid winds of the ensuing flames. Gentiana was pristine as she stood before them, smiling coyly at the trio.

 

“It gladdens my heart to see you safe, my King,” the woman said, drifting over to them. The smell of gases only grew more poignant as they advanced, the messenger acting as their guide.

 

“Thanks, Gentiana. Any idea where this train is?” Noctis queried of her, brows furrowed as he struggled to adjust to so much change at one time. The woman’s gaze switched to Nyx, the older man nodding firmly, it clear the question needn’t be answered.

 

“Thanks for clearing the path for us. I think we can handle it from here,” Nyx said resolutely, receiving a kind, enigmatic smile from the Glacian as she disappeared in a gust of cold wind, leaving the path ahead clear if not silent. “Come on, let’s move!”

 

Their rush was headlong as Noctis sprinted irregularly, the lameness in his leg sustained from childhood affecting his jaunt as Nyx held fast to ensure he didn’t trip and forestall them. At the end of a corridor, after banking a sharp left, Agni called for them to enter in a freight elevator she held open while they rushed in. Just as Noctis and Nyx made it, and she released the button to allow the gates to fall shut, a herd of zombified prisoners crushed into the outer gates, the three of them balking back as the morass of the undead clawed at them, shading out the bright, florescent lights and gnawing on the bars that barricaded them inside the corridor.

 

Noctis watched in morbid fascination until he glanced up the rusty, cacophonous shrieking of gears aloft. Agni braced herself in one of the corners, looking like a cat threatened with water until the platform made its rickety descent down and the zombies soon became nothing but a dazed memory. Agni herself sank to the ground in torrential relief while Nyx glanced at Noctis, inexorably taking the prince into his arms and slotting his face against Noctis’ collarbone and neck, the younger male unable to help the flush that crept headily upon his pale skin.

 

“Thought I’d lost you,” Nyx admitted in a harsh whisper, embracing Noctis so tight he could’ve suffocated the prince. But, it was so reassuring after months of solid isolation, torture, and agony that Noctis wouldn’t have minded if his end came like this.

 

“Thought you said I stunk,” Noctis quipped wryly, laughing hoarsely. His arms were too crushed to hug Nyx back, anyhow.

 

Agni gazed up at them and stuck out her tongue. “Hey, get a room! At least wait until we’re outta here, you dumb-butt lovebirds,” she interjected with a catty grin.

 

“Yeah, yeah, Your Highness. Sorry to offend your sensitivities,” Nyx rejoined as he loosened his grip on Noctis, resting his jawline on the crown of Noctis’ head. Though he was too mollified to say anything, the blush accenting Noctis’ skin appeared to be quite the happy one.

 

The elevator rocked unsteadily and jarringly as they reached the final floor, Agni bolting out first as they made it in the nick of time, the freight train just beginning to chug away. “This way, slowpokes!” she urged as she leaped adroitly into a waiting freight car, hands on the egress she didn’t intend on having ajar all the way. Their time was limited, after all. Between the limited window of near invisibility they had before the guards below would discover, or the prison above swiftly descending into ruin, this was their only chance.

 

Nodding firmly to one another, both men summoned their weapons in unison as they hurled them at similar times, striking home in the other side of the train car where they manifested again and Agni slammed the door shut. Heaving as she locked it, all was dark.

 

“Welcome to our home sweet home for the next few days, gents,” Agni introduced as both Lucians flopped to the ground and saw a pair of heavy wool blankets chucked at them.

 

“You sure we won’t be detected?” Noctis inquired anxiously, peering through the cracks in the ingress of the other side where minute gusts of blistering cold wind and a cobalt-blue winterscape sped past as they left the train terminal. The cold, artificial lights of the advanced city flew by them in an indistinct blur, Noctis hoping he’d never have to be formally acquainted with the crown jewel of enemy territory again.

 

Agni had torn a few planks of wood from one of the piles of crates, coaxing a mild fire spell to light them; thankfully, the floor seemed to be of a fire retardant metal, which poorly insulated them but would likely warm with time. Crouching over the fire that began a steady blaze, she flopped back and sat with her knees gathered to her chest, sighing as her emerald gaze was lost amid the flames. “Positive. Genti might be shitty at maintaining a consistent appearance, but there’s some...illusive spell or whatever that’s been cast that’ll protect us. Sorta the reason why it’s chillier than it needs to be,” she explained, puffing experimentally and watching a mote of steam rise from her breath.

 

“We thought this through, Noct, promise,” Nyx assured, until a long spell of silence spanned. “Hey Agni, mind if you left princey and I some space so we can talk? Kinda have to fill him in, and all.”

 

The brunette glanced up, seeming to understand. “Talk? Psssht, nah. I have snares to set up. One of us has to get us some grub around here,” she slyly averted, then flouncing away towards the back, Noctis somewhat surprised by how easily it’d been accomplished even if he didn’t understand Nyx’s reasoning.

 

Still having been standing, with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and gripped by calloused hands, Nyx inexorably brought Noctis into his fold from behind. Like stones did they sink to the warming ground, the fire heating the steel and ambient temperature as Agni had promised it would. Noctis, small as he was, was brought into Nyx’s embrace with his jawline situated on the prince’s shoulder. So many rambling, unspoken emotions gamboled between them, of a sort Noctis almost wished wouldn’t be. As they sat, Noctis between Nyx’s legs spread ajar, he felt a pair of lips at the nape of his neck and a flush flare along his skin.

 

“When we get back, first thing I’m gonna do is eat junk food for a week in bed,” Noctis broke through the silence, swallowing thickly down a throat so parched. “Actually—I’m gonna do it outside. Just get a bedroll and camp out in the palace gardens, no tents. ...You know—I don’t really remember what grass feels like, what...the sky looks like. Clear, and...pretty. I wanna see it again.” Oh. There it was. The hot prick of tears that suffused his vision and blurred it. It stung down his cheeks, but he was too numb to really sob. Noctis had felt like a dead cell during their incarceration. “Fucking Six, I don’t even feel like a person anymore.” His voice cracked at that, eyelashes fluttering as more tears rolled down his cheeks.

 

Nyx tugged him closer, understanding. Through their reunion, the high from that and the escape seemed to be fading faster than the twilight behind squalls of snow and cloud cover. “Feels like being an MT would be more merciful than that; than what we went through,” the glaive commented lowly, though his expression was like stone. He’d been made numb, too; hulled raw and filled with ashes. He didn’t know how else to describe it. Most of all, they’d been isolated on purpose. There were badly healed scars that demanded healing, but here and now, their combined body heat seemed to be a temporary panacea to it.

 

To feel human again. To feel something other than numbness and emotions forced to surface. Noctis felt Nyx’s calloused hand ghost along his inner thigh, thinking— _oh_. That. That same hand ghosted towards the zipper at his collar and for a time, the tears seemed to stop and Noctis would do anything to prolong this—whatever _this_ was escalating into. Quietly did it undo, Noctis clutching the blanket tighter over them like a tent. “Shit—“ he cursed soundlessly, canting his head as Nyx plotted a trail of kisses along his neck. “Wait, Nyx—if Agni comes back—“

 

“Gotta point there, Noct,” Nyx reasoned, stealing a glance down where Agni was supposed to be laying traps for the local rat populace. Not a peachy prospect, but freedom would ultimately taste sweeter.

 

“Hey, the hell are you—“ Noctis didn’t have time to protest as Nyx lifted him in his arms bridal style, no hard feat for Nyx seeing as the man was muscular and Noctis had always been something of a lightweight.

 

“Hey look, you’re finally a princess,” Nyx teased as they retreated behind a high partition of crates, the flank and back of the train car’s sides enclosing them further. The firelight that flickered on reflective walls seemed faraway, and it was chilled. Though, when Nyx set Noctis down and slid down the wall, he grinned cockily and patted his lap. “Throne’s awaiting, Majesty.”

 

Noctis straddled his lap, murmuring, “You’re an idiot,” before he was silenced by a passionate kiss. Gods, he didn’t know what the fuck he was doing. And he doubted Nyx did, either. They’d been friends for as long as he could remember, and the man had always been by his side, even if a gulf of over a decade spanned between them. All he knew was that those old perceptions were broken and they’d escaped a horrific crisis with only each other at their backs.

 

The topmost parts of their prison garbs peeled off, and the revelation of the months was painted on their skin like a canvas. Both were marred with off-white scarring, enormous bruises splotching purple and dark green on their skin, fresh wounds peppering red and aching. Because of it, they were careful. Their dirty, grimy, dusty hands caressed through oily, matted hair both sported, remarkably preserved in style as the sole provision of grooming they’d been allowed. They were unclean and blemished and, right now, almost perfect for each other.

 

Noctis could feel Nyx’s arousal against his groin, the glaive’s lips traveling down his throat and seeming to add new marks to the abused skin, though—gods, it was a pain he didn’t mind feeling, for once. Nyx’s hands traveling his spine, one resting at the small of it. Until, from the front did he coax the zipper down further and begin stimulating Noctis’ manhood. “Hey, tit for tat, princess,” Nyx murmured huskily into his ear, lazily laving on the lobe.

 

Remembering Nyx’s own, he smiled sheepishly and muttered, “Yeah, sorry.” Plunging a hand into the glaive’s pants, he returned the favor, Nyx’s hips gyrating into his hand and grinding against his own pelvis.

 

Through a deep succession of kisses, Nyx uttered, “Fuck, I missed you.” Noctis’ ministrations stopped for a moment, pausing to rest his forehead on Nyx’s. The older man gazed up at him, fondly tucking some hair behind Noctis’ ear. Noctis pressed a chaste kiss to Nyx’s lips, Nyx holding him by the nape of his neck to deepen it, if for but a moment.

 

“...Same.” Though, they were both jolted by the train car suddenly lurching, and Noctis furtively glanced over his shoulder. It seemed to be a cosmic sign to get their encounter over with, to which they obliged. Nyx pulled the prince down for a deep French kiss, trying to suppress a moan and to be as quiet as they could, though the muffled clattering of the train tracks helped some.

 

Though Noctis’ efforts were clumsier than Nyx’s, and the gyrations of his hips didn’t help much, it wasn’t long before they were able to come to climax—Nyx a few minutes later. While Noctis seemed to be in a hurry to clean up, mopping away Nyx’s jizz on a rag he could snatch up, Nyx had other ideas which involved lasciviously licking his fingers as though a savory sauce coated them. “You’re disgusting,” Noctis quipped with a laugh as he moved from Nyx’s lap and to the floor, fiddling with his jumpsuit’s zipper to hurriedly conceal himself again, despite the unpleasantness of coagulating blood and grime clinging to dirtier skin, the idea of being exposed to the chill was a worse consideration.

 

“This, you prude, is an excellent source of protein,” Nyx said matter-of-factly before ingesting the last of it with a wily smile. “Besides, you taste good.” Finally finished, he wrestled Noctis into his arms and practically had him in a choke hold from the tightness of the embrace, both grinning like madmen and chuckling at their own antics.

 

“ _Greeeat_ , one of my closest friends is a prospective cannibal. Now I’m _really_ gonna sleep easy at night.” At that, Nyx grew uncharacteristically quiet, all before both heard Agni rap her knuckles on the metal floor like a dinner bell.

 

“Dinner time, you mooks!”

 

Noctis extricated himself from Nyx’s arms with little resistance, unable to bring himself to face the older man when he knew well enough he’d be facing a look of rejection. How the hell was he supposed to feel? They’d just escaped hell on earth and he was just remembering how to feel human again. What they did—for now, it was just a stress reliever. A way of easing the gaping holes in their hearts that came from their pain, fear, and isolation. Right now, he didn’t want to have to process something else that could be burgeoning between them.

 

Noctis’ mind suddenly flashed with an image of burgundy hair, and he balked, visage visibly haunted.

 

Agni raised a brow at Noctis as both men emerged from their rendezvous and gestured expectantly towards their dinner, flayed and disemboweled rats that had been roasted to perfection and shish-kebabed. “Um, you guys? Noctis, why do you look like someone stepped on your grave and why does Nyx look like someone dished out some bad news? Was your, uh, ‘ _talk_ ’ that bad?”

 

“It was fine, just—“ Nyx waved a dismissive hand, shrugging and planting himself near the fire. “Let’s eat.”

 

The three of them dined on their skewered rats in silence, Noctis peeling off morsels of meat while Nyx dug into his voraciously, Agni somewhere between them. It wasn’t long before Agni then slid them a bucket of what appeared to be melted ice water their way, Noctis having forgotten how thirsty he’d been. Using his hands as a ladle and drinking his fill, it was passed to Nyx who met Noctis’ gaze unflinchingly, questioning, though Noctis quickly averted his. It didn’t take Agni’s obviously switching eyes between them to see the tension that could be cut with a knife.

 

After the silence passed, Agni then popped the tab of the medicine container and plopped three very familiar tablets into her waiting hand, glancing at them pointedly. “Hate to say it, but it needs to be done, fellas. Pick your poison.”

 

Though Nyx looked reluctant, Noctis downed his without a hint of recalcitrance. To forget the newfound tension between him and Nyx, the cold, his aching and battered body—all of it.

 

The world melted away and, for once, his dreams delivered him to a better place.

* * *

 

How it ended up, maybe getting high had been the best thing for them. Together, they’d pooled an enormous tarp into a cushion the trio snuggled together on, Nyx the first to pass out into a sleep that couldn’t be disturbed, and they’d tried; tried as in using bits of charcoal to draw immature, anatomically incorrect dicks, complete with an eye monocle and butler mustache. The pair of them were too high to burst into laughter, it having a strange, soothing effect more than anything. But, as the zenith of the high steadily fell, so too did their giddy, drunken antics.

 

Noctis lay in the middle, Nyx having since turned and embraced Noctis loosely around his middle while the youngest of the trio lay on his side, sandwiched in between them, Agni content to lay on Noctis’ skinny bicep that had since gone numb and tingly. The reposing glaive held Noctis closer to him, nuzzling into the nape of his neck and snoring softly.

 

“Well, he’s out,” Noctis commented with a laugh, head resting on its side and on Nyx’s muscled bicep curled around his collar. “So, uh, Agni—where did you learn to hunt and stuff like that?”

 

Snorting a chuckle from his preceding comment, the brunette soon grew quiet. Laying on her back, she stared into the flickering plays of light on part of the hearth. “Remember what I told you when we first met? Well, that’s it—I was on the run for a long while. The Niffs discovered Solheim’s crystal was still...sorta intact, and my family had kept it for generations. We’re direct descendants of Solheim’s sultanate, even if its technically extinct. At least—I’m the last of it.” She sighed heavily, blinking back what appeared to be tears. “Sorry, I just...I lost them really recently. I’d been on the run, but they caught me, and… Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.”

 

Noctis’ lips pursed sympathetically, understanding. He drew the slightly older woman into his arms, letting her sob quietly. Agni had never been given the chance to mourn, had she? Stroking his hands through her pixie-cut hair, he thought back to Insomnia, of Gladio’s death, Clarus’, the revelation behind his mother’s death and his father who died in his arms. Though Agni still shook with sobs, he wouldn’t let himself. For once, someone else needed to mourn; not just himself and his own self-pity.

 

Their moment was shattered by a rocking, jarring force against the side of the freight car. Noctis and Agni lurched forth and rolled into a pile of crates, crashing into them. Thankfully, the ones aboard were tethered down and didn’t crush them. In a dazed tangle of limbs, they extricated themselves and were now fully alert. “The hell was that?” Noctis asked rhetorically as the two of them locked eyes, then scrambling in unison towards the flank that had been jarred. Nyx, meanwhile, was blearily rubbing his head, having conked his head against the crates they’d been resting against.

 

“The door, come on—“ Noctis followed her towards it and together they strained to heave it open, both agape in awe at what they saw while Nyx stumbled in from behind, then rubbing his eyes in disbelief and gaping.

 

Before them, as the sun was just beginning to crest behind Niflheim’s mountainous ridges, was the enormous figure of Shiva genuflecting in an enormous river valley, armless and slumped over as though she’d been crucified. Perhaps what was more horrifying was what was devouring her form, bones protruding and the lower portion of her face hollowed to the very bone. Grotesquely did thousands upon thousands of daemons of all sizes and shapes mill and eat away at her remains. Darkness swam at her waist down and thousands of red orbs moved animatedly amid the inky morass, the swarm that crested higher and seemed to be dragging the Astral into the very depths. The wind billowed against the three of them as they stared on in horror, over a suspension bridge that was carrying them swiftly away.

 

Passengers in earlier cars opened their windows and were pointing, it obvious this hadn’t been a spectacle seen before. Noctis felt fear curdle his blood, remembering: it had only been the day before that Shiva had cleared a path for them to board the train at all.

 

Soon, the horrific sight of Shiva’s half-eaten corpse prone against the mountain range that encompassed Niflheim was eclipsed by another mountain, it pointless to keep the door ajar at that point. Locking it shut, Noctis slumped to the ground, raking a hand through his hair. Agni and Nyx looked on at him, still processing the horrific sight they’d seen.

 

“It was Ardyn,” Noctis said finally, shaking his head in disbelief. “I know it was him. He had a…vendetta against her. I know it.” He recalled Ardyn’s last words to him hauntingly, they seeming to entrench more anxiety in his mind. Shiva had been their first ally, the only Astral to side with humanity in their fight against...whatever it was that held them in a war of attrition. And there, clear as day, her corpse was dead and being devoured by the daemons.

 

“A vendetta? Why?” Agni demanded, the prince remembering that Agni wasn’t aware.

 

“The Chancellor has an obsession with our resident prince, thinks he’s someone from his past. That, and Shiva was in his black book to begin with. Doesn’t help Genti kinda rubbed it in on more than one occasion that she had more sway over him than he did,” Nyx surmised, leaning against a wall near Noctis.

 

“He’s the only person who could control that many daemons,” Noctis shuddered, the image of Shiva’s corpse transfixed in his head. “Even with the Ring, I can’t imagine doing that, not...on a scale like that.”

 

Agni still appeared horror-struck, at a complete loss for words. “I knew he was fucked up, but what the hell is he? An Astral himself? Nobody is that powerful. Not even a Crystal-chosen. Not even the King of Light.” _Maybe not even the gods themselve_ _s,_ was unspoken but mirrored in thought by their very faces.

 

A long silence spanned between them, but it was a reflective one. It hadn’t occurred what he was really up against, of what kind of power Ardyn really boasted. If he could summon a legion of daemons that enormous to take down an Astral at her most powerful just a day and a half after they’d left, en route to Altissia, it not only meant that he knew their path but also that he was steps ahead of them. That much the Chancellor had proven back in Lucis when he’d revealed the ploy to keep him incarcerated had been useless in the first place.

 

“He’s toying with us.” All eyes turned to Nyx, who seemed to speak what they were all thinking. “Every step we make, he’s far in advance. There no stopping this bastard or what?” Nyx chuffed, folding his arms. “Wonder if he’s listening in on us right now.” Or if he’d seen what had transpired between glaive and prince.

 

The last bit entered Noctis’ mind guiltily, feeling another tremor rock him. Ardyn had just begun to show his true colors; the events in Lucis on both occasions and the Disc had been nothing. It was a taste of what was to come, of the treachery yet to unfold. It placed those strangely gentle moments Noctis had shared with the man in brutal, fearsome relief. Of the enemy he’d made and how far he was willing to go to get what he wanted. Even if it meant sundering the heavens themselves.

 

_Shiva’s demise was just an intermission between acts._

 

“How long do we have until we get to Altissia?” Noctis asked aloud, garnering Agni’s attention first. He sounded surprisingly steady in spite of the epiphany made.

 

“Today and until tomorrow night,” the woman replied, counting the days passed on a finger. Noctis nodded, rising to stand.

 

“Alright, one more night. We’ve gotta get ready, guys. Who knows what we’ll be facing when we get there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last Thoughts: Alright, for the record, I will never apologize for the unprecedented NyxNoct inclusion. Ardyn left a little love note in response to it, anyways. Also, rating change for the unexpected sexytiems that happened anyways. I mean, if you listen closely enough, you can probably hear the sound of Ardyn dragging his fingernails down a chalkboard-- 
> 
> Will there be more smut? The world may never knooooowwwwww.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	16. Teaching Myself How to Be Free

( **Warning(s]** : M, child abuse mentions, character death, gory death]

* * *

 

By morning’s first light, the three of them had awoken, taken thorough, hot showers and had dressed in clean, simple clothing while their old attire would either be mended or disposed of. Crowe, especially, insisted on the mending part—of which she’d do herself, seemingly unable to part ways with her old uniform that was emblematic of everything she’d ever held dear. Even if it was gone. In such a state of reflection, it was after they were relatively finished that they were herded outside by an eager Prompto to be seated outside. Ignis with his coffee and artfully styled hair, Crowe’s in a perpetual, messy bun and wearing loose clothing, and Prompto in a comfortable state of disarray that punctuated their air of organized chaos.

 

“Aw man, the sunrise looks so great from here! Hey, guys—say Ghyshal Greens!” With his camera’s timer due to go off, Crowe laughed in her bemusement and attempted to brush away as much hair as she could, sputtering a giggle when Prompto almost careened into Ignis to make time, but with limited success. The camera’s shutter clicked several times from the table it’d been situated upon, they barely making it to have at least one coordinated picture.

 

“Man, it looks like we were being attacked by a swarm of angry bees,” Prompto quipped at as he tabbed through the photos, not at all hiding his amusement.

 

“Hey, pass it here, blondie.” The older woman stretched across the gap between her and Prompto, Ignis chuckling as he lifted his mug of coffee above their heads and leaned back with clippings from the morning paper in a bid to avoid scalding either of them. Thumbing through the selections, her face took on a look of mock indignation. “Does my hair really look that bad? Because it’s usually not this bad.”

 

“Not bad, merely...creative in execution, let us say,” Ignis quipped with a wry smile, leafing through another page of the paper.

 

“Uh huh, sure. At least I don’t look as stiff as you, huh, Ignis?” Crowe ribbed him with her elbow, eliciting a grin from the normally stoic example of a man.

 

Prompto, while he’d been surveying the collection of photos amassed, lifted his head at the sight of Cindy as she strode towards them, stifling a huge yawn before Crowe gently caught her by the hand and encouraged the blonde to lean down and touch lips with the glaive, blushing sweetly from the affection. “Mornin’, darlin’,” she greeted to Crowe, especially, before regarding the two men. “Ya’ll sleep real good? Paw’s up and waitin’ for the rest of ya and ready to talk. Say’s he got a message from _you-know-where_.” Ravatogh. Where several remaining glaives and some surviving high officials from the Lucian court had defected as they all guarded the Crystal together.

 

“We’d best not keep Cid waiting. I imagine his hospitality shall only carry us so far,” Ignis said before rising, encouraging the same from Prompto while Cindy and Crowe brought up the rear, holding hands that seemed to share a nervous energy between them. It was towards a livable homestead at the rear of Hammerhead’s primary garage that Cindy directed them to move towards, the lead shifting from the men to them.

 

Disconnecting their hands, Cindy was the first to wave them inside, opening a screen door and sidling her way through. It was a modest home, maybe more cramped than even the trailer they’d spent the night in, but it was quaint and homey. Not exactly the home one would expect one of Regis’ former entourage to occupy, but it suited the old man and his granddaughter just fine. Within the small kitchen, at a small folding table with a cheap, garishly patterned latex tabletop was Cid idly reading the morning paper and sipping languidly on what appeared to be coffee and Bailey’s, a sort of cream and whiskey. Clad as he normally was, Sophiar regarded them with a nod, noting how cramped his kitchen was but making no motion to move elsewhere. “Alright, Cindy, thanks for getting these knuckleheads here. Mind openin’ up the shop for me?”

 

“Sure, paw—try not to be too late, now!” the blonde departed in passing, Crowe managing to squeeze her hand before she departed to the garage.

 

“Well, don’t just stand there gapin’ like a buncha yuppies. Sit down,” Cid ordered, folding his newspaper in a square and sipping his coffee. As the table had enough room for three more, it was doable enough that they could sit without banging into the cabinets at their backs. Fishing through his Letterman jacket’s lapel pocket, he produced what appeared to be scrap paper and flipped it over, everything written on it in a cipher. “Know what this is?”

 

Crowe’s face lit up in recognition, brows furrowing as she snatched it first to read and study. “Hey, I’d recognize this anywhere. It’s a cipher Libertus and I made up when we were still kids. Mind if I borrow these?” she directed at Cid, motioning towards a used pen and the newspaper itself, beginning to scrawl unintelligibly in the margins.

 

“So, uh, what’s it say?” Prompto broached after a solid minute, Ignis regarding him; not once had the adviser so much as looked at Cid. Yesterday’s confrontation still seemed to smart on the brunet.

 

“Hang on, gimme a second,” Crowe ground out in concentration. “Astrals, it’s been years—wait, here we go.” The last few letters were finished in a flourish, the glaive setting down the pen conclusively. “Says something about developments in Altissia. Or, that’s getting out of control in Tenebrae but needs to be contained before it _reaches_ Altissia.”

 

“Pray tell what that might be?” Ignis interjected, mouth set in a neutral line.

 

“Stella’s there. She’s being kept under lock and key, and I don’t know about you, but she’s someone that would help to have on our side. Instead of, you know, being us against someone who has an Armiger and powers of an Oracle,” Crowe said as she leaned back, folding her arms beneath her bosom.

 

“Wait, Stella? You mean, Ravus and Luna’s younger sister? I dunno… Would she really wanna team up with us after what...happened to Luna?” They were aware. In the months that had worn away since their journey’s commencement roughly five to six months ago, much had been shared between them, Noctis having revealed the truth behind Stella’s animosity towards him fairly early on. Even Cid had been informed, if he hadn’t known of it before during the course of the correspondence he shared with the late king.

 

“It would be advantageous. However, I believe it would be in our best interests to perhaps utilize Brigadier General Caligo Ulldor in our efforts. He is rather infamous for his horrid treatment of the Nox Fleuret siblings,” Ignis supplied, pushing his glasses thoughtfully up his nose.

 

“Look, I’m real thrilled you kids are finally gettin’ some heads on yer shoulders, but I’m interested in talkin’ over how you’ll be gettin’ there. Cuz I sure as hell ain’t gonna be chaperonin’ you three,” Cid interrupted, placing his coffee down mug rather soundly. “No, it ain’t gonna be by Chocobo, neither.” This was added with a humored twinkle in his eye which seemed to cause Ignis to relax minutely.

 

Laying out what appeared to be a faded advertisement for docking at an industrial port situated near Cape Caem, it seemed clear as day as to what it indicated. “Friend of mine works for this here company, and from what I’ve heard, they’re shippin’ out a buncha train cars to the mainland. Some of them are sleepers, and I bribed my buddy to take you three. Journey’s only a day aboard a freighter, and I doubt you three’ll have much trouble gettin’ there. Or keepin’ quiet.”

 

“That’s it? Sounds like it’d be pretty cozy, actually!” Prompto enthused, ever the optimist. “Man, I could get used to sleeping in real beds, no mosquitoes or chill to worry about; sounds kinda dreamy.”

 

Ignis chuffed softly at Prompto’s boundless hope, much as they needed it. As much as his strategic mind wished to at least accede to these plans, much of him felt it better to remain silent. It seemed such a trifle to allow the words of one frustrated man to pierce him to deeply, but they were true. Even if the sweetest, most benevolent voice had told him the same would the pain be no less. For a man he’d devoted himself to since childhood, had befriended and held dear, the loss was more staggering than he’d ever openly admit. Especially when weakness was a deadly roulette to so much as consider.

 

“When might we consider passage?” Ignis asked, flicking his eyes towards Cid’s stony ones.

 

“Soon. Real soon. Heck, you might wanna leave right now if it suits ya. That freighter’s leavin’ at noon with or without you,” Cid replied with a grim set to his lips, leaning back and folding his arms with an air of finality. “Don’t think Cindy’d mind taking you in our car. Astrals know you wouldn’t make it there on foot or by Chocobo.”

 

“I don’t know about you guys, but I think I’ve done enough waiting,” Crowe said as she rose from her seat, nodding her head in gratitude towards Cid who returned the gesture. Prompto seemed wont to do the same, though Cid’s reaction was truly fatherly; perhaps because he reminded of his late son, though he’d never tell Prompto that. Not now, at least.

 

As Ignis motioned to do the same, Cid cleared his throat to stop him. “Look, Ignis...Scientia...the hell you wanna be called. If I had no faith in you, I’d have made you turn tail back to Lucis a long while back. Real long ago, in fact. Thing is, I want you to prove me wrong. You’ve led your band of misfits this long, so I sure as hell want to believe you’ll get Reggy’s brat back in one piece. Can ya do that for me?” Cid asked in all seriousness, folding his arms and boring his gaze through Ignis’ very skull.

 

Though it was an odd vote of confidence at best, it netted better than outright disavowal. It felt as though the prickly airs between them were thinning and that he might finally breathe. “Yes...I shall. The late king entrusted him to me, and...I shall strive not to disappoint,” Ignis resolved, their gazes meeting on equal ground for the first time since arriving.

 

Sensing the beginning of a fast thaw, Cid smiled wryly to himself. “Yeah, yeah. Get ready and try not to keep your friends waitin’. Cuz we sure as hell don’t do dry cleaning on rainy days.”

* * *

 

Their lodgings were not comfortable, but they would more than suffice. Encamped in a swaying, nebulous dark did they occupy these bunks and spend much of their time sleeping. It was a rare thing, sleep. By its truest definition, especially. Worries and fears still plagued their minds, truly, but not to the effect than camping in a wilderness of literal and figurative uncertainties had. To lay in the dark and not anticipate the waiting strike of a daemon was a gift and of itself. Of countless, sleepless nights on watch spent staving away what would lust to kill them without need for nourishment.

 

So, they slept. As if they hadn’t in ages, undisturbed and warm. Protected by a prospective future and a slim hope that they wouldn’t be discovered. It was minimal, and it was enough. Dreamless, even, but in a fashion whereat not all darknesses were cruel and consuming.

 

They woke to an enormous crane magnetized to the ceiling of their passenger car, clinging to their sheets and watching through enormous windows as they soared above Tenebraen docks; Ignis could identify Zoldara Henge from any place in all of Eos. It was green and beautiful and heavenly even as they swayed, graceless and displaced. It were as though the most ethereal flora had flocked to live in the blessing of the line of Oracles, even if her ilk was snuffed out forever, its sole inheritors without female heirs to assume the mantle again. Even under Niflheim influence, they would not dare to dream of disturbing the natural resplendence of Tenebrae.

 

“Wait, so...we’re just going to bust into Fenestala Manor?” Prompto flustered, his voice almost pitching too high before Crowe hissed at him to shut up, they hidden in the lee of an enormous freight canister that had been aboard the freight ship with them after sneaking from their temporary sanctuary.

 

“The princess has been informed of our arrival. She is due to meet us shortly,” Ignis said, earning a flabbergasted look from the blond. “Within the forest where Niflheim first attacked twelve years ago. It’s an unorthodox meeting place, but Crowe inspected it before agreeing. It’s rather deserted.”

 

“Yeah, you’d think Niffs would be sniffing out this place constantly. Guess not,” Crowe scoffed, inspecting her Bowie knives used in her warping. “Anyways, it’s safe. Safe as any place swarming with Niffs can be.”

 

“We’ll need to traverse quietly. A mistake would prove our undoing,” Ignis murmured lowly, his own daggers summoned in a bright wisp of light.

 

Their trek from the near bottom to the heights above was long, and perilous. Thankfully, though the path was arduous, Ignis had been wise in choosing a path that would provide the least resistance as far as detection might befall, to the journey to their aforementioned meeting grounds. Pillars broad and wide of base mingled with these ancient trees that rose higher still, a river and its flourish of waterfalls still running true despite the hallmarks of Niflheim’s damage. Prompto marveled at the natural splendor of the woodland encompassing them, at the dappled shadows playing in the tributary of water that ran amid their feet.

 

He balked when he saw a beautiful girl, barely a year younger than himself and standing with a slight, stricken expression. “O-Oh, Your Highness—“ Prompto stumbled, gulping as the amethyst-eyed woman strode towards them before stopping short, a good meter away, eyes filled with distrust.

 

“...I almost wish you hadn’t made it. I wish I could’ve been disappointed,” the princess stated honestly, folding her arms loosely and unable to meet their gazes. “Is true about what happened to Noctis? I heard reports, but it’s hard to believe what they said.”

 

“Yes,” Ignis confirmed lowly, regarding the woman with pursed lips. The meeting had been difficult to negotiate, seeing as the messenger in her attendance had formerly been Shiva and was freed of that obligation to their group. A draft of wind ominously rustled through the leaves, they all minutely tensing. Although Stella was unaccompanied, she’d been powerful enough to surmount even Noctis’ power. Green or no, she was still a force to contend with that could aggrieve them easily.

 

“I know what you mean to him, Ignis, but...would you resent me if I said I’m sort of...glad? He killed my sister without so much as a consequence for his actions. Nothing but his father sealing those memories away because of how badly they plighted him, but...nothing for my brother or I,” Stella said in a harsh whisper, glancing at them with watery eyes, but they were still fierce. A serpent coiled was not one to goad.

 

“You were just kids! It was an accident, wasn’t it?” Crowe protested, throwing her hands out and letting them fall with a clap at her sides.

 

“And because of him the Oracle is dead and now there’s nothing to stop the Starscourge! It’s been getting worse while you guys have been playing hide-and-seek with Niflheim. Have you seen the moon? How red at night it gets? It’s like walking through an ocean of blood!” Stella volleyed back, brows furrowing as she glared unflinchingly at Crowe, the brunette maintaining it for a long note before she cocked a hip and dropped it with an exasperated sigh.

 

“I...had heard rumor of the severity of the Starscourge, and have seen its effects while abroad. But, please, try and understand us, Lady Stella. If not for Noctis, think of your home. Ultimately, we wish to seek the Starscourge’s eradication, surely, as well as free the world from the clutches of the empire,” Ignis broached with a placating tome in his voice, advancing a few steps while reserving a fair distance.

 

“How,” Stella demanded flatly, impatience flaring and seeming to respond to her power, the beginnings of gold lacing through her gaze.

 

Prompto was the first to respond, fishing through a deep pocket on his hip and producing a copy of the Cosmogony, one that nearly every child in Eos had at least read a passage or two of. Or had been read. Stella regarded him dubiously, but waited for Prompto to speak, tense and expectant. “You know Gentiana? Well, we kinda realized something after hearing about Shiva’s death in the Ghorovas Rift. Her messenger, Gentiana, never disappeared. Pelna Khara, a guy on our side, said he saw her before we left. Had told us to come here, and...we kinda did some digging.” The blond glanced at Crowe, the woman meeting his gaze coolly before she picked up his slack.

 

“Messengers used to be human. From what we think, I think it’s a fair bet what’s left is Gentiana Nox Fleuret, the first Oracle and your ancestor. I think it explains why the Starscourge hasn’t gotten that bad yet,” Crowe finished, leaning on her other hip.

 

Stella seemed taken aback, the defensive arm hold beginning to look more like she was hugging herself. “You mean…? All this time, she was…”

 

Prompto neared the younger Fleuret, broaching close enough to touch her shoulder sympathetically. Though she tensed at first, Stella relaxed into the touch and even embraced Prompto, the man frozen at first before he warmed into it, hugging the slightly shorter woman back. “I think I remember...Gentiana hadn’t been around that long, right?” the blond said gently, bowing his head over Stella’s shoulder.

 

“No. ...Not since Luna died,” Stella admitted softly, but only loud for Prompto to hear. She withdrew from Prompto’s embrace, smiling gratefully at him. “Prompto, that’s your name, right?” Prompto nodded in confirmation. “If I do this, it’s not going to be for Noctis. In fact, I think I’d rather not see him again if I can help it. I know, I know; it…wasn’t on purpose. It wasn’t in cold blood. But, I can’t forgive him for it. And I don’t think I want to. I’ll help you guys, but I have one condition: that while you’re here, you’ll help me find and kill Brigadier General Caligo Ulldor.”

 

“I’m sorry it must come to this,” Ignis admitted, nodding his head slowly. Though Stella might not have known, Noctis still cared immensely for Stella. He knew that breaking the news of Stella’s decision would be heartbreaking, if not feel cruel. Though, ultimately, Noctis would respect her choice and honor it no matter what might come.

 

“I can’t stand being around him, Ignis. And I can’t forgive him. Maybe one day, but—right now, I can’t.”

 

“Tough pill to swallow, but the kid’ll live,” Crowe said, though not callously. “In any case, don’t we have Caligo to deal with? We’ll worry about the sob story to come later.” Though Ignis narrowed his eyes at Crowe’s flippancy, she was hardly wrong in her pursuit. Worrying about Noctis was secondary in this regard for now, loathe as he was to admit it.

 

Stella lowered her gaze, filled with resolve as it lifted again. “Follow me. I think I know where he might be.”

* * *

 

It was something that had gone unspoken, but most of them were aware as to why Stella was so vindicated against the general. It was of little secret that after Tenebrae’s conquest, Caligo had been ordained as overseer of Tenebrae’s affairs, and as a result, had the Fleuret children fall under his jurisdiction. Chiefly, as an abuser who saw fit to punish, harass, and manipulate them as he’d seen fit without quarter. With Sylva gone, they’d been at the mercy of the Empire. And like Agni and Noctis had undergone, were forcefully imprisoned as a means of breaking their spirits and bending their will to their captor’s. And as Verstael had done, Caligo had done unto Stella and Ravus.

 

Stella’s jaw set moments after they’d entered Fenestala Manor, in its lower dungeons where those of Niflheim seldom ventured without good cause. Aloft would be the servants’ quarters and the underbelly of its operations, such as the kitchen and quarters for their own, private paramilitary. As they hunkered within an unused cell, the blonde passed Ignis a map of the manor completely detailed.

 

“Bring him to me—alive, please. It has to be me. I have to be the one to kill him,” Stella said with conviction despite how worried Prompto looked at her.

 

“Stella, are you sure? I mean, you don’t have to—“ Prompto weakly protested, despite the firm shake of her blonde locks.

 

“Please don’t try and dissuade me. Prompto, it took so much to think of this, to circumnavigate the Niffs to contact you. And for you to be here instead of with… _him_. I can’t turn back. Not now. Just bring him to me, please.”

 

Ignis placed a hand on Prompto’s shoulder, shaking his head and directing his gaze towards a set of stairs that would lead them to Fenestala’s higher levels. “Let us depart. The sooner we complete this, the sooner we can proceed to Altissia, and hopefully, to Noctis.” Crowe nodded at both of them, having decided to hang back and wait for them to deploy.

 

As they left the dungeons, feeling the blotted concrete give way to the whitewashed marble of Fenestala’s upper levels, Crowe was the first to peer out into the hall before jerking sharply back, their party bracing against the wall as a detail of MT’s paraded past in an exaggerated military walk that seemed emblematic of Niflheim. When the coast finally cleared, all eyes seemed to shift automatically to Ignis.

 

“So, any ideas on where we can find this guy?” Crowe asked of the adviser, glancing at him before returning her eyes to the unfolding scene.

 

“The floor above us contains bunkers for military personnel—the Fleuret’s private militia. At least, apartments for their highest ranking officers. I believe Caligo might be there,” Ignis affirmed, unrolling a blueprint map for them all to lean over and contemplate.

 

“Wait, Iggy—doesn’t Caligo kinda live here? Wouldn’t it make more sense to think he’s been living in the chambers reserved for royalty? ...Doubt either Ravus or Stella live there,” Prompto interjected with a worried expression, brows puckered in troubled thought.

 

“Speaking of which, who’s to say Ravus isn’t here as Caligo’s personal guard dog?” Crowe folded her arms, grinding her teeth. Ravus was a powerful mage, maybe even more so than herself. Six knew how battered the prince had been contested against both of them and the Diamond WEAPON combined.

 

“He’s not. Stella affirmed as much. Even if he were, I doubt he would prevent Caligo’s demise in lieu of his treatment towards them both.” Ignis began rolling the blueprints back up, tugging his gloves on tighter for the coming battle should there be any.

 

“I’ve actually got an idea of how we could do this,” Prompto said suddenly, all eyes on him. Fishing into his pocket, he produced a handful of rubber bullets in the cusp of his hand before pocketing them again. “Knocking him out would make it easier. Plus, I’m the best shot of us here, right?” He flashed them a rather winning smile as assurance.

 

“Knocking him out would shut him up, that’s for sure. Plus...I do kinda want to see the look on his face when he’d wake up,” Crowe agreed with a faint smirk, rocking back on her feet when their cover no longer needed to be maintained. Regardless, it seemed as though they were in agreement with Ignis’ final nod of silent assent.

 

Together, they set off. They transitioned often between sidling along walls and skulking through corridors, navigating the near-empty reaches of Fenestala Manor. Though beautiful, airy, and elegantly pristine, the emptiness was jarring. The MT’s taken out were few in number, they diffused thinly due to how much of a stronghold Tenebrae was believed to be against the enemy.

 

Prompto was lifted into the air ducts, unscrewed of its lid in a private corner that would face little intercession from anyone who could seek to interrupt. The blond was relatively noiseless in the air ducts, army crawling through and maneuvering a route he’d memorized from the blueprints Ignis had procured.

 

The gunman’s breath was dry and parched as his limbs clanked lowly through the air vent, sweat perspiring on his skin and slinking his way through. The air was hot and stuffy, and Prompto’s thoughts were erratic as he glanced through some openings, freezing when he thought someone had seen him and his cover blown. His gun was holstered and Prompto patted it to make sure it was still there, exhaling normally when it was. “Come on, Prom, gotta do this...”

 

A turn and bend later and Prompto could hear the muffled sounds of a conversation, straining to perceive it as the Brigadier General and some nameless person he could care less about. Inching forwards ever more, peering through the latticed air vent, he was able to see Caligo pacing his office that was likely Queen Sylva’s study in life, speaking animatedly and angrily into an earpiece and paying no mind to his surroundings.

 

This was for Stella—for Noct. It was something he had to do. Clumsily but quietly did Prompto retrieve his handgun, breath rattling in his chest as he loaded it with the rubber bullets, snapping the rotary magazine back in place. Taking aim, when Caligo turned at the perfect time, with the right angle, lining up just right—he fired. Without hesitance and all the callousness of a killer. Caligo writhed as it struck home on his spine at the base of his neck, falling as dead weight in an unconscious heap. After a solid minute passed, Prompto extricated himself from the air vent and yelped quietly when he landed in an uncoordinated mess of gangly limbs.

 

Stepping cautiously towards him, Prompto nudged Caligo’s calf with the toe of his boot. “Don’t be dead, don’t be dead—“ he chanted to himself, then moving towards his neck and pressing his index and forefingers to the man’s neck and almost swooning in relief that he could feel a pulse. “Wait, how am I gonna get him out?!”

 

Remembering the barcode on his wrist, Prompto’s lips pursed guiltily and he numbly moved to shoulder Caligo’s weight, draping an arm over his own. He didn’t have far to go, he had to remember that. Even if he was sighted, it’d be fine. He was a gunman worthy of the prince’s crownsguard, not the uncertain little boy of his youth. Holding a gun in his free hand, resolute blue eyes glared ahead even as he kicked open the door and openly entered the hall, the MT’s stationed at Caligo’s door too slow as he fired two rounds home in their skulls that crumpled them in a heap. “Man, you’re heavy,” Prompto quipped with a nervous laugh, tensing when he heard footsteps trotting towards him.

 

“This is not my day!” he exclaimed as he ducked in the lee of the recessed egress that fed into the study, Caligo’s armor clanking as he moved swiftly to hide. Bullets ricocheted off the angular corner, dust spurting with every missed hit. Prompto glanced around the corner and fired a volley back at the MT’s on their offense, clucking whenever he heard the distinctive sound of them being felled.

 

When it seemed as though the coast was clear, Prompto ducked down slightly, thinking better of using Caligo as a human shield. The man roused some, but not enough to regain consciousness. Prompto glanced at his quarry, features sagging. Stella was going to kill him; maybe even butcher him. Could he really live knowing he’d delivered a man to his death? But...he understood Stella, at least. There was a man he wouldn’t mind seeing meet the fate Caligo ultimately would.

 

Knowing that the conflagration would inevitably draw more, Prompto began trotting towards the rendezvous point, knowing that he couldn’t stall anymore. He moved as fast as he could despite Caligo’s feet dragging noisily, sabatons eliciting faint screeches as he strode. The blond’s shoulders burned from the weight of Caligo and his armor, but he wouldn’t let it stop him.

 

Minutes passed as the corridor he ventured down was suspiciously deserted, Prompto barging through the door with guns blazing, gun hand sagging when he found it deserted. Kicking the door shut behind him, he deposited Ulldor on the pristine but musty chamber’s bed, lifting his brows at the dusty plume that diffused.

 

Prompto stared down at him resentfully, sighing. “You probably don’t remember me, do you? Just some...kid, trying to escape by the skin of my teeth. A kid that looked like so many of...the other ones. Ones made to look like me…” His teeth grit, lower lip worrying as the memories came back. “His own son! He turned his own son into a fucking lab rat!”

 

The gunman started suddenly when he wheeled around and was face to face with Ignis standing in silhouette in the doorway, Crowe craning over his shoulder, both appearing equally pensive at having emerged in at Prompto’s sudden outburst. “Oh, uh…hi guys,” the blond greeted lamely, averted his eyes.

 

Ignis said nothing as he strode through with a small flashlight in hand, turning Ulldor enough to test his pulse, to lift back an eyelid and see it roll away—all the signs of an unconscious man. Clicking it off and pocketing it in a lapel pocket, it was Crowe who regarded him with suspicion and a dry set to her lips, intense brown eyes never leaving the younger man. “So, how hard was it to chase the rat from his den?” she asked with an upward jerk of her head, Prompto smiling tightly.

 

“I got him in the first shot. Just had to...gun down MT’s on my way here,” Prompto affirmed quietly, the tensity in the air barely broken by their conversation.

 

It was Ignis who startled him with a gentle hand on his shoulder, Prompto looking like a deer in the headlights. “You did well, Prompto,” he murmured, smile small.

 

“Come on, you two. We’re keeping the princess waiting,” Crowe informed them as she nodded at Ignis, both men shouldering the burden of Caligo, Altius taking the head of their entourage.

 

All to complete Stella’s long-delayed revenge.

* * *

 

It was in the gardens of Tenebrae, devoid of Niflheim’s influence, in the swaying sylleblossoms by moonlight was Stella waiting. Sitting among the flora, luminous and ethereal despite her intentions, she barely moved even as Caligo was delivered before her newly shackled. Lowering him to his knees, he groggily moaned as he slowly regained consciousness.

 

“Alright, delivered as promised. Do what you need to do, Highness,” Crowe stated, folding her arms expectantly at the meditating princess.

 

“Thank you,” Stella said inaudibly, almost unheard in the billowing breezes. Her head bowed, dirty blonde hair falling over her shoulders. She sighed shakily, Prompto swearing he could see tears shed as they shone starkly on her pale cheeks.

 

“Stella.” Her head snapped as Prompto crouched near her, expression an open book of concern for her. “Listen...just, do what you have to, okay? We won’t leave until you’re done.” The silence spanned between them broadly, summer breezes billowing through their flaxen locks. Boldly, he reached out and stroked away her tears in gentle caresses, Stella’s face crumpling as her petite shoulders shook with sobs. Prompto embraced her then and there, allowing her to bury her face in his shoulder before she pushed him away and resolutely smeared away her tears.

 

“All these years and you’ve barely changed,” came an interrupting sneer, both blondes whipping to see Caligo had finally regained consciousness and his smirk was fiendish, Stella wide-eyed as a hand reflexively raised as if to shield herself. Caligo took a fiendish delight in that, then snapping to attention. “You, undo my cuffs. That _is_ what she wanted, isn’t it?” the man barked at Ignis, though the younger man ignored him, waiting on Stella instead.

 

Tears still streaming down her face, Stella hiccuped wetly as years of trauma undid her to such a raw degree. “Guys, she’s in no shape to do this!” Prompto protested, flashing pleading eyes towards Ignis and Crowe, both seeming in silent agreement. He hovered protectively near, hands steadying Stella by her shoulders with a stricken expression.

 

“NO! I can do this, just...” Stella interjected with a fresh sob, every other word coming from her mouth seeming occluded by a hiccup or a sob. Her shoulders shook until she managed to prop her feet beneath herself and stand like a gangly filly. Prompto stumbled back but jumped up to protectively take her flank, switching gazes between her and Ulldor. “Uncuff him, Ignis—please.”

 

Though he looked hesitant, the brunet nodded and methodically undid the bindings, Ulldor growling as he rubbed his wrists. Without another moment of hesitance, in a flash of light did he summon an enormous Claymore in a fashion reminiscent of how Stella gained hers. Laughing darkly, he taunted, “Surprised, princess? The Lucians aren’t the only ones who can spread the magic of their Crystal among those compatible with it. You have your brother to thank for _that_.”

 

Ignis, Crowe, and Prompto retreated among the line of trees where the deep forests began, though Prompto left a lingering, concerned look that Stella met with a reassuring smile despite her puffy, pink eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. A fell wind seemed to ready both duelists, facing each other grimly.

 

“Come on, princess! Are you really going to fight or run and hide like you used to as a sniveling, pathetic girl?” the man jeered, smugly watching as she seemed to still tremble despite the distinct crystalline shattering of her armiger manifesting, the gyro of glyphs and gold unfurling like a wing behind her back, eyes blazing a lit, solar hue.

 

Stella rushed towards him, practically bludgeoning her rapier upon Caligo, the man parrying her blow with a fiendish smirk, face contorted wickedly. “You don’t have that influence over me anymore, Ulldor! You’re not escaping this alive!” Stella retorted back, crying out as a pair of rapiers manifested and slashed behind at his legs, blood spurting as the man shouted out. “I’m not letting this last longer than it has to.” Her eyes narrowed as the Brigadier General cried out, boring his blade into the soft loam and leaning on it heavily.

 

Gasping intensely, a stunted sound followed as he cast a brief Cure to remedy the worst of it. Brandishing his blade again, he charged towards Stella in a red haze, catching the young woman off guard as he brought his blade down and disarmed her from the sheer force of it. Plunging to the ground, only several manifested rapiers held his in contention whilst the young woman stumbled to her feet again.

 

From afar, Prompto had blankly been filling his gun’s magazine with real bullets, Ignis taking notice and angling the handgun’s muzzle away. “This is something she must do, Prompto,” he murmured quietly, garnering Crowe’s attention.

 

“I know,” Prompto tensely acceded, gritting his teeth angrily at Caligo.

 

“Would’ve been easier to just slash his throat and gotten this all over with. She shouldn’t torture herself with an honorable duel,” Crowe hissed beneath her breath, more so of concern than annoyance.

 

Caligo barked a sharp laugh as the mess of rapiers recoiled him and sent him wheeling a few steps back, Stella taking advantage of the opening to the delirious man and driving her rapier between his ribs, his mania fast contorting to a look of pain. This gained the trio’s tense observance, Prompto practically lunging to watch more closely in anticipation.

 

Several foils manifested and gored into him like a human pin cushion, Caligo glancing down deliberately with growing horror at the realization that the blood being shed to Tenebrae’s parched earth was his own. Staggering back with her true blade in hand, Stella watched with wide eyes as his knees buckled and the death ushered would be slow and tortuous.

 

No one anticipated Ignis as he practically appeared from thin air, glasses catching a cold sheen in the last twilight as he grabbed a fistful of Caligo’s hair in a hand, the man gaping soundlessly, the adviser then exposing Ulldor’s throat and slashing his dagger deeply across it. The man’s expression was frozen in place as blood spurted and he was nearly decapitated in the effort. Releasing his hair, Ignis coldly cleaned his blade with a handkerchief as Ulldor slowly keeled over to the side, eyes rolled grotesquely back as the last thing he saw was the Lucian devoid of feeling for his death.

 

“I-Iggy...” Prompto gasped in alarm, even Crowe seeming surprised. Dashing over to the older man, those cornflower blue eyes met his pleadingly while Crowe gathered Stella to a stand and ensured the young woman was fine. “What was that?”

 

“My patience for these bloody sods and their sodding wankery only stretches so bloody far!” Ignis fumed, exhaling shakily as he glanced at the princess, Stella’s head lowered while Crowe was speaking with her. “...It was protracted enough as it was.” Ignis deadpanned his expression again and strode off despite the storm Prompto saw in his eyes. Sighing, he made towards Crowe and Stella, the girl leaning into the glaive who held her gently.

 

“Hey,” Crowe greeted with a half smile before it fell, returning her attention to the blonde. Stella regarded him only once before nestling into Crowe’s side more, hugging around her neck that Crowe reciprocated and swayed gently to, sighing. “Sorry, kid, but I don’t think Stella’s in any shape to talk just yet.”

 

“Yeah… Um, any idea what we’re gonna do from here?” Prompto asked anxiously, a slight twinge of envy admittedly present at how close Crowe was able to be with Stella.

 

Crowe glanced over Stella’s shoulder where Caligo’s corpse lay starkly against the sylleblossoms, grimacing at the sight. “Roll Caligo off a cliff for starters. Sure he’d be decent fodder for the daemons. ...Bastard doesn’t deserve a funeral.” Remembering the root of Prompto’s question, she shrugged, stroking a hand through Stella’s hair. “Make way to the station and take the train to Altissia. I think we’ll be able to get tickets through someone here… Maria, I think. Be a nice change of pace instead of squatting our way through the woods, that’s for sure. But...not right now.” Crowe ended it quietly, Stella turning her face in profile against Crowe’s clavicle, appearing tired but ineffably endearing, earning a faint chuff from the older woman.

 

“...Right,” Prompto nodded, smiling tightly. Right now, even if he wouldn’t say it, Ignis needed him.

 

After all that could they finally make their great escape, the gunman anxious to see Noctis and Nyx again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Painfully British™ Ignis and Crowe being gay as usual? Hell yeah hell yeah.
> 
> Next chapter will be coming up soon!
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	17. Somewhere in the Belly of the Beast

( **Warning(s]** : M, drug addiction, gory childbirth]

* * *

 

It was in the middle of the night when Noctis had stirred, cuddled into Nyx’s arms as the trio had been huddled together to conserve warmth in the last leg of their journey. However, through the night, that need had changed. The prince awoke to feeling sweaty and gross, but there was something giddy about it. Humidity. Perspiration clung to his skin and matted his hair to his cheeks, but he felt so euphoric he could practically prance for joy then and there. Hurriedly, Noctis gently extricated himself from Nyx’s embrasure as the man groaned softly and rolled over, hopping up and scrambling towards the door. What awaited him set him in thrall.

 

The gentle spray from cascading waterfalls misted past as the train traveled over a series of suspended bridges that spanned over every one at intervals, Noctis in total awe of the unobstructed view of Altissia. The dawn had just begun its ascension over the horizon, coloring the waterlogged city in splays of clay red and cream, seeming to float on the water itself. Due to the earliness of the day, water traffic was high with small watercraft that navigated the arteries and veins of canals that parted through the enormous city. The sun shimmered warmly on the waters, the din of life below seeming to reach them even from such a distance.

 

To say it was the most beautiful sight he’d seen in months was an understatement. Noctis’ eyes shone from sheer relief at how their tumultuous journey was finally coming to an end.

 

From behind, he felt Nyx encircle his arms around the prince’s waist, the glaive sleepily nuzzling into Noctis’ neck and smiling at the sight, likely knowing exactly how he felt. Holding him close, Noctis decided to stop questioning what they were. For now, Nyx’s presence was a salve to the hurt that had occurred and that was enough.

 

Feeling wads of paper on the back of their heads aimed cheekily, both men parted and turned to see Agni grinning at them. From her place, she flounced up and gestured grandly. “Here’s our great escape, boys! You see those itty-bitty boats littered in the harbor? We’re gonna jack one and that’ll be our ticket into the city. Oh, uh, Nyx—remember what we talked about? When is this Weskham guy gonna be expecting us, anyways? Do we need to learn some secret handshake to get in?”

 

Nyx smirked as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Nah. We just need to get our asses over. Anyways—should probably go now before this train stops and we face some real trouble.”

 

They all seemed in agreement. With nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever they’d brought with them—Agni especially mindful of the phial of Luna—they were ready. Aiming for a dock just meters ahead, they readied their warps, Nyx kissing his kukri blade for luck. Noctis and Nyx hurled their weapons afar, breezing through the spray and landing almost perfectly. Agni, who had made her descent piggy-back style on Ny’s back, stumbled away and braced herself. “God, I don’t know how the hell you guys get used to that.”

 

Noctis shook out his hair, whistling at the steep drop they’d taken. “Eh, you get used to it.” Finding a small craft almost too perfectly docked, he stole glances at Nyx and Agni. “So, who’s driving? I can hotwire this thing if we need it.”

 

Together they boarded the small tug boat, barely wide enough for two people to stand together but the perfect size to navigate the narrower of the canals, almost as small as a gondola. It only took a moment for Noctis to hotwire the craft while Agni watched and Nyx stood sentinel. When the engine revved to life, Noctis seemed to perk up, grinning at his accomplishment. However, Nyx took control of the craft, their sojourn into the city proper being one that was fairly lax and languid.

 

Before the sun could properly rise, within ten minutes had Nyx navigated their way to the central canal that lined an enormous, sloping channel populated by ancient palazzi and boastful grandeur that would make even Insomnia pale in compare. Keeping a low profile, Noctis and Agni huddled against the sides of the boat while Nyx kept his head bowed and avoided eye contact with the many crafts ferrying daily necessities for the Altissians who otherwise seemed too preoccupied to care.

 

Maagho, a gratefully open-air restaurant, was deserted in the early morning. Mooring their boat more towards the back of the canal instead of nearer to the restaurant, Noctis tepidly disembarked with his friends and seemed perplexed by what he saw. As if by magic, Weskham appeared from behind the counter, scrubbing down a table until he stopped in tracks. The relaxed expression faltered and dark brown skin seemed to blanch, as if horror-struck.

 

“Your Highness—is that you?” That rich, warm baritone he distantly remembered from his past was shattered as he spoke, Weskham’s brows furrowed in disbelief at them. He waved at them to come closer, Noctis’ stomach tightening in knots.

 

“Mr. Armaugh, what—“ Weskham waved again, this time signaling them to remain silent. Agni appeared confused as she trotted towards them, lips puckered in confusion.

 

“I think you three need to come with me. In the back—I’ve cordoned off the inn. As I meant to, but, no one will disturb us there.” Still perplexed, they followed in unison as he snuck them behind with an alleyway meant for the waitstaff, through the shade and into the beginnings of a hospitably beautiful palazzo interior. When he found Weskham beside a mirror, Noctis followed suit with a thudding heart, nervousness wracking him.

 

The person he saw in the reflection startled him almost as badly as Weskham had been.

 

Noctis’ eyes widened and his breath hitched as he stared at the man in the mirror, numbly touching the mirror’s surface as if it’d shatter the illusion. The man staring back was slightly gaunt, lips dry and cracked with blood dried and raw, eyes rheumy and listless, without shine; and his hair was dull and limpid. Bruises and scars littered his features, dirt and grime yellowing his skin sickly. Without even being asked, with a throbbing heart did he unzip his jumpsuit to his navel and peeled it away from his torso, gritting yellowed teeth at the violent profusion of dark purple splotches, dried dirt and grease and blood dirtily clinging and coloring his skin a sallow hue. Bloodied, violet and blue with bruises, Noctis wanted to hurl his nearly emaciated frame into the canal outside and hope it’d somehow wash everything away.

 

He was startled from his reverie when Weskham placed a hand on his shoulder, the man averting his eyes despite the stricken compassion evident. “If you go to the second floor, there’s two bedrooms and two bathrooms—both are conjoined to your rooms. Pick what you’d like, but I have some spare clothes you three can change into. When you’ve...cleaned up and rested, we’ll have breakfast, alright?”

 

After a pregnant pause, Noctis rasped, “Yeah. Got it.” He didn’t say anything more as he trudged upstairs, finding a room he assumed would be shared with Nyx. With two twin beds that overlooked the stunning waterfront, daybreak was beginning to unfurl. Sighting a pair of clothes on the bed—a simple pair of baggy jeans, a loose sweatshirt, and some socks and slippers and clean boxer shorts—Noctis made a grab towards them and made a beeline towards the bathroom that he shut without reservation. Seeing a stack of towels stacked on a shelf, he threw one over the grand mirror, the bathroom itself feeling too luxuriant for his current state. Most of all, he didn’t want to have to face himself again. Locking the door behind him, he plugged the inset, large tub and ran water from both of its faucets. When his clothing had been stripped away and the tub fully filled and sudsy, he sank beneath the hot waters.

 

Pouring an enormous glob of shampoo on his head, he furiously scrubbed through his hair hard enough to draw blood from his scalp. Dunking beneath the scalding waters, he grimaced at the sight of the plume of dirt pooling before him. Seeming more incised, with a frustrated growl did he take a scrubbing brush lathered with soap and ferociously scrubbed at his skin, searing away scabs and uncaring of how much it hurt, how much it bled, or of the scabs of various sizes he saw floating to the surface like cockroaches.

 

“DAMN IT!” Noctis roared as he smote a fist against the tile adjacent to the tub, clutching at his skull as his knees gathered into himself, a fetal position against what reality weighed on him. “Fuck, _fuck_ **fuck** —“

 

A knock at the door. “Hey Noct, you alright in there?” It was Nyx. Numbly, Noctis rose from the tub, repulsed by the byproducts of his treatment, letting it drain and pulling on a pair of boxer shorts and bath robe over himself, ignorant of the blood weeping from wounds and leaving a bloody trail in his wake.

 

Opening the door, Noctis regarded Nyx with a deadpan until Nyx spied his bloody trail, his expression cracking. “Noct, the hell…?” Frowning, Nyx tugged Noctis towards him, the prince’s expression blanking as he removed the robe to inspect the damage. “Fuck, Noct—come on. I gotta first aid kit, just… Damn it, Noct...” Noctis said nothing as Nyx methodically began wiping away the bloodshed with damp towels, then bandaging the areas as best he could. Wiping away the last of it, though it didn’t answer for the stains, the silent assumption was that it could be cleaned at a later time.

 

At least he was clean.

 

“Noct, hey—you alright?” Nyx patted Noctis’ cheek, breaking him from his weary rapture.

 

“I’m...just hungry,” the prince responded vacantly, the extreme show of emotion soon hiding behind the empty facade that had built through the extreme numbing of his emotions. The bath made him feel fine on the outside, but, internally? Seeing himself for what he’d become, what the extent of the damage done to him made him feel uglier, repulsive. As if he were damaged. Was that really wrong? Noctis felt ruined.

 

Nyx sighed deeply, gaze hardening. “Listen, I’m gonna take a shower or somethin’, so… Just eat up, alright? I’ll see you down in a bit.” It was hard. They’d all been freed from the maw of hell, and to suddenly be without—it was an ugly bout of self-reflection they’d be going through. Worse so with the deprivation of Luna they’d be going through, knowing they were in for something almost as bad.

 

The glaive patted Noctis on the shoulder one last time before he departed into the bathroom, taking the other pair of clothes with him as he went. The prince numbly watched for minutes too long after Nyx locked the door behind him, making his way down the stairs.

 

Instead of being within Maagho itself as he’d expected, it was in the luxuriantly appointed dining room that he found Weskham waiting, the man seated with a lavish spread of breakfast. Noctis’ mouth watered at the ample, colorful spread and Weskham took notice with a chuckle. Taking a seat next to the man in a highback, velveteen chair, already did Noctis begin to fork over an Altissian breakfast casserole, large portions of fruit, Tenebraen style toast, and a tall glass of grapefruit juice.

 

“Where’s Agni?” he asked, suddenly realizing a distinct lack of her presence. Weskam had barely begun to sip at his steaming espresso, looking up at the prince.

 

“She...encountered some problems. I assure you, she’s in good hands, but she fell ill after breakfast and had to retire to our temporary infirmary. I suspect it’s only some dehydration. Nothing a good, steady IV tap won’t fix.” Weskham smiled reassuringly, even though Noctis felt uneasy still.

 

Nudging at the casserole with his fork, his stomach turned sickly. “We’re here, but...what’s even gonna happen from here? Are we just gonna sit around and do nothing?” he queried, braving himself to eat real food for the first time in months. Forking a large chunk into his mouth, Noctis gagged at the richness compared to his palette from before, but Weskham didn’t appear insulted.

 

“I suspect it has to do with your friends arriving. I hear tale they were seen in Tenebrae, and a woman named Maria informed me via an encrypted network we share between there, here, and Ravatogh that they’re bound for Altissia. Shouldn’t be too long now.” Weskham bit into his tart apple pastry, slowly savoring it compared to Noctis who struggled to keep his food down as he wolfed it down.

 

Polishing off the casserole, rich from the eggs and bacon it contained, Noctis breathed through his nostrils to calm his own stomach. Picking at the fruit, he instead diverted to the toast, hoping its plainness might calm it. “Just...thanks for everything, Mr. Armaugh. I know...it’s been years since you’ve seen my dad, but—really, this means a lot.”

 

“I’m not doing this out of obligation, Noctis, I hope you know that. You might be Reggy’s boy but I’d like to think of you as family, if that’s alright by you.” A soft smile bloomed on his coppery features, Noctis unable to really help one of his own.

 

“I think I’d really like that, sir.”

 

“So, what’s this about sir? Am I missing a briefing?” Both men turned to see Nyx trod towards them, looking far better than before. Bandaged by himself, no doubt, and appearing to have lost a fair amount of muscle mass, he nonetheless looked better than before. Better than how Noctis felt, for certain.

 

“Ah, Nyx Ulric. Hero of the hour, I see!” Weskham enthused with a laugh, Nyx fingergunning at the man and clucking his tongue.

 

“Yo, you mind if the princess and I kinda chilled in your courtyard, sir? Thought maybe he could use the sun.”

 

“But of course. I have to open up shop, so you’ll have the palazzo to yourselves. Just...you boys try not to leave the property, you hear? Empire’s on edge after Tenebrae, and they might be scoping through the city,” Weskham warned, rising from his seat.

 

“Gotcha, sir. Much obliged.” When Weskham’s back finally retreated away, Nyx smirked at Noctis as though he were engineering something devious in mind.

 

Coaxing Noctis, who took his untouched assortment of fruits and grapefruit juice with him, they proceeded through the lavish halls and to a courtyard much bigger and beautiful than expected. Terrifically high porticoes enclosed from four sides, diverging into a spacious garden easily the size of an entire campo. Grassy and littered with colorful arrangements of flowers, a copse of trees interspersed everywhere except upon a brick-laid terrace where sunlight drenched and two weather-proof chase lounges awaited them. Noctis claimed one with a table, Nyx heaving himself on the opposite.

 

“Oh man, this is soft. Imagine how good our beds will feel,” Nyx quipped with a pleased groan, smirking at something. Noctis quirked a brow at him, nibbling his way through a slice of cantaloupe.

 

When Noctis was fully reclined, clad in actual clothes and bandaged to the nines, his jovial expression faltered as he placed the spent cantaloupe hull aside. “Nyx, on the train. ...What was that even?” he broached, voice laden with uncertainty.

 

Nyx folded his arms behind his head, staring up at the sky. “That was sex, Noct. Something two folks who like each other tend to do. ‘s not rocket science or something.” Nyx didn’t seem relaxed, lips pursed in spite of the beautiful place they were in.

 

“I thought it was just...everything boiled over. Being in isolation for months, worrying about you… I thought there wasn’t anything more to it, just...emotional overflow after being so fucking numb,” Noctis elaborated with lowered eyes, feeling a migraine impending. The withdrawal symptoms were returning and he hadn’t spoken to Weskham just how they’d be approaching the detox, how— Fuck, where was his brain right now?

 

“That’s...really something, Highness,” Nyx replied with a dry and laconic laugh. “It’s funny. You know, months before your birthday, we were just our stations. You were the prince, and I was one of your father’s loyal glaives. But damn, meeting you… It was what, a year ago? Fuck man, I tried. I tried hanging back, choking back what I felt. But it just kept happening, I sorta became your driver, and then—this whole mess.” He sighed, raking his hands through his mohawk. “Man, I know you’re asleep most of the damn time, but wake the fuck up, Noct. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”

 

Noctis was all but rendered speechless, brows furrowing together as he swallowed hard, feeling parched until he slaked his thirst some on the juice. No, he didn’t need Nyx to explain the brunt of what he meant, but by the Six if it didn’t hit him like a train. Slowly rising, the tension between them became immense and heavy. “I just… I don’t know how I feel, Nyx. I really don’t,” he sighed gustily, Noctis abandoning his glass and plate and plodding inside, sleep weighing to the point of him wanting to collapse on the nearest flat surface he could and sleep.

 

Retreating to their room, Noctis buried himself under as many quilts as he could and sank into the deepest sleep he’d had in months.

* * *

 

All was dark when he awoke. Noctis unfurled the heavy quilts, but the moment he truly awoke, something felt very wrong. The world seemed blurred and hazy, lights spanning long and blearily. The more he focused, the more he could focus to see the light outside was a misty, congested scarlet like smog. Though—even the bed he was in wasn’t his own. Instead of the jeans and t-shirt he’d put on after being bandaged up fully, he was clad in black trousers, a white dress shirt, and all traces of his liaisons were gone. Utterly mystified, it was with a creeping sensation that he realized this was his own bedroom in the Citadel. Dark and gray and too Spartan to still be in Altissia.

 

 **THE THRONE**.

 

Noctis froze when that was roared through his very skull, wincing from its volume. Urgency beset him in its wake and didn’t delay, bolting from his room as if the devil were at his heels. Sprinting until he was out of breath, movements slowed as though he waded through muck, it wasn’t long before he stood before those ornate, onyx doors that preceded the throne room. With numbing slowness did he strain to open those double doors and eliciting a long, low groan from them, back slouching in his exertion.

 

What he stumbled upon was the stuff of nightmares.

 

In the cavernous, vaulted ceilings above did an enormous skull loom, with hellion bright eyes Noctis deduced to be none other than the skull of Etro he remembered from the kingdom’s official symbol, but that was the least of his troubles. Below, the skull spoke with a crackling, disembodied voice in a language unintelligible, though what shocked him the most was the sight of his father...and his mother. Aulea’s womb was swollen with child, which he could only assume was with him.

 

“Aulea, I’m…sorry but this must be done,”Regis whispered, the skull raging in a tempestuous tone as the king stiffened and listened, eyes aglow in their hellion red. When they did, a pall of chill seemed to wash over them both, nebulous and faceless dead hovered their hands over Aulea’s womb, the woman pitching into hysterics as she felt them worm within her, branding her child. She could feel it.

 

“ _REGIS! HE’S COMING, OH SIX, HE’S COMING!_ ” she wailed miserably, the hooded spirits beginning to chant as tears streaming down her cheeks and pale face reddening from the pain she felt. “Please stop this, Goddess—stop this madness!” Her caterwauls pitched higher and higher, Noctis transfixed in horror at what he was witnessing.

 

**CUT THE BABE FREE.**

 

The skull above, angled towards them, clicking its jaws as it uttered its mad command. Regis fell silent as he dragged up her shirt to the line beneath her breasts, Aulea unable to do anything in her frenzied panic as Regis summoned a dagger from his Armiger, mouth set in a firm line as he brought it inexorably down and made the first incision into her womb. Callously did he cut while the phantoms held Aulea down, she thrashing and screaming from the pain while Regis gouged her from sternum to pelvis, careful to keep the baby intact. Cutting through the skin, the oozing placenta, until the bloody outline of the baby inside was revealed. Aulea still gushed blood, losing consciousness fast.

 

Noctis trembled with horror as Regis dipped bloody hands into his wife’s womb, gently lifting the still quiet Noctis and severing the umbilical chord. He patted the infant until it began to cry, rising in volume with terror from the horror of Etro’s skull fiendishly looming above them.

 

Regis blinked slowly, tears forming in his eyes as his teeth grit, holding his wailing son while Aulea was unconscious and losing life fast. “This sins of our forefathers must be paid in blood,” the king murmured blankly, blinking back salty trails as tears with a worrying lower lip. The spirits swarmed over Aulea, Regis stepping back as he watched his wife’s body lifted into the air, Etro’s jaws snapping wide in suspension as her body hovered towards it, then devoured in a bloody snap. Regis staggered back as he watched Etro devour his wife, crude and bloody and with all the voracity of a predator with limbs snapping and bony popping emanating from the cruel Goddess’ maw.

 

Regis almost fell to his knees, turning to his son who grew inexorably quiet, expression morphing to one of disbelief as the infant’s eyes peeled open, a shade of red darker than any Lucian he’d remembered. “It’s been done. You have your servant, your blood sacrifice. Now leave my kingdom in peace,” the king whimpered, unable to shout it at the malevolent specter. Finishing with her sacrifice, Etro honed her gaze upon the king before disappearing in a flash of light.

 

Regis limped from the throne room, dark consuming it entirely and leaving only the grown Noctis in his wake, unable to see this shadow of the future.

 

In the lonely dark, Noctis collapsed to his knees. Mouth agape, eyes wide, gradually the shock wore away to a disbelieving numbness and his back sagged, staring at his hands. Etro had done this… Verstael hadn’t lied. The king of light, the Lucis...a prosperous kingdom that had known no equal. The Morningstar, the light within the night sky.

 

Noctis didn’t stop as he doubled over and retched upon the floor, tearing up after what he’d witnessed and he was finished. Stumbling to his feet, lamely did he manage the double doors open, blinking back the harsh profusion of light.

 

“Had I known the prince would deign himself to tour our city and break the provisions we’d set, I’d think a prison hospital might have been a wiser choice, Weskham.”

 

The prince raised a hand to his eyes, blinking in confusion. Before him, a shorter woman stood with her arms folded impatiently, the shrewdly featured blonde appearing unamused at whatever Noctis was being blamed for doing. Beside her, a worried and out of breath Weskham stood.

 

“Your Highness,” he greeted immediately, pulling the prince into his side, Noctis just realizing how dizzy and weak he was. “Madam Claustra, this boy was a hostage of Niflheim for months and made to become addicted to Lunastellum. He’s been detoxing, but the side-effects...”

 

Camelia turned sternly, cocking a hip. “Weskham, if I had a heart that bleeds as much as yours I’d be shackled to cinder blocks and tossed into the harbor to drown. Do you have any idea how much I’m risking letting a fugitive prince reside within my capital? Especially with how the Niffs’ damn Chancellor just won’t shut up about him. I think he’s on to us, too!”

 

“I’m...sorry,” Noctis said blankly, Weskham gazing down at him, perplexed. Camelia raised a brow at this. “Just...I don’t know what’s going on with me. I promise I won’t leave again, but… I just need to get over this first, please.”

 

“Camelia, you weren’t always this damn cold. Look at him: he’s just a kid. One who went through something real damn traumatic alongside those friends of his. Just let him have one time where he doesn’t have to worry about this sort of thing,” Weskham reasoned with a sharp sigh, letting Noctis lean tiredly against him.

 

“I have an entire empire breathing down my neck and my country at risk, Armaugh, don’t you get it?!” she lashed out, fuming angrily. Waving her hand in sharp dismissal, Camelia began to storm away. “If this boy had any sense he’d drop his senseless mission and change his identity and live somewhere else. So many others have after Niflheim stormed in, so why not him?”

 

Both men were silent in Carmelia’s wake, Weskham sighing deeply. “Don’t you listen to her, Highness. She means well, even if it doesn’t seem like it. ...War’s got us all in a tough spot.”

 

Noctis gently shrugged himself away from Weskham, still too engrossed in what he’d witnessed to truly care for Carmelia’s words. “Yeah, let’s just...get back home, please,” Noctis murmured, wanting nothing more than to sleep and attempt to stay in one place.


	18. We Say Our Own Farewells

( **Warning(s]** : T, none]

 

* * *

 

Sleep was no friend. Not now, and maybe not for some time to come. When he’d thought he’d finally succumbed, it seemed as though his consciousness would warily sway through its cloudy, demented dreamscape before he’d be jarred awake. As the days wore on, Noctis wandered closer to the palazzo as they’d become acclimated to the prince’s strange sleepwalking. Watches were set between them, switching days and assigned to stand vigil even when he napped. Sometimes, despite their apparent tension, Nyx would sleep with him in a tight embrace not even his subconscious would fight to extricate from.

 

Those nights were the warmest and most restful. Even if they’d be distant again by dawn’s first light.

 

One morning was different. He heard an excited exchange of whispers as he squinted against the pale gold of sunlight, only to awaken to the sight of two of his closest friends. “Prompto… Ignis?” he murmured blearily, even though reality settled and he sprung animatedly from tossed sheets.

 

“Guys, you’re here!” Noctis shouted elatedly, not caring who would hear. Into the arms of the brunet and blond did he charge and was promptly caught, smiles abundant for the first time in months.

 

“Man, Noct, it’s so good to see you again!” Prompto enthused, clutching at the prince tightly despite the frank worry in his eyes at how frail Noctis appeared. Encircling them both, Ignis noted Noctis’ thinner frame with distaste, but was relieved that the worst extent of his injuries had been healed. Weskham was a trustworthy man, after all, from years as serving as the former king’s steward. The exchanges between the pair over Noctis’ condition had stricken his adviser with worry.

 

“We’ll have much to tell you, won’t we, Noct?” Ignis said after all three men withdrew from the bear hug, Noctis beaming at them both. “Come, downstairs. Mr. Armaugh has been quite generous in letting me commandeer his kitchen for the morning. I believe we ought have a feast none of us shall soon forget.”

 

“Oh man, I’ve seriously missed your cooking. I mean, you could make a freaking salad and I wouldn’t even complain.” Ignis paused in his descent and raised a brow, smirking. That was a lie. Even through everything Noctis still couldn’t be compelled to eat his vegetables.

 

The prince noted the distinct lack of Nyx’s presence, Agni in the courtyard in a bikini and tanning herself, something that had helped speed the witch’s healing considerably—enough so that she’d roped Nyx and Noctis into joining her and regaining their former color back. It was Nyx’s absence that stood out starkly, though maybe he was grateful. They’d barely spoken two words to each other since their quarrel and Noctis had no idea how to break the attrition. He’d been honest in his confusion since they’d only just begun healing as of a week or two ago.

 

As Prompto and Noctis followed Ignis into the spacious kitchen like ducklings, they perched on two bar stools while Ignis tethered an apron around his waist and began his extensive preparation: washing his hands, clangorously procuring needed cooking instruments, and taking a careful inventory of Weskham’s available supply of foodstuffs. They weren’t exactly free to wander the marketplace, after all.

 

“So, what happened in Tenebrae—“ Noctis began after a long spell of silence, surprised they’d been so silent. Catching Ignis tense at the mention, his brows drew together in confusion. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Stella?”

 

Ignis turned towards Noctis, shaking his head. “She’s quite fine, Noctis. Smuggled out of Tenebrae and somewhere safe; Lestallum I believe is the case, however...” There was no real way to soften the news he knew would devastate prince. “She has no wish to see you ever again, Noct. I’m sorry.” And he didn’t have to explain why.

 

Noctis felt his blood freeze at this, it having been over half a year since they’d last seen each other. Probably closer to a year. “Oh,” was all that was said, the prince’s eyes darkening grimly as his head began to hang.

 

Prompto lamely held back, unsure as what to do but torn apart by worry for his friend. “Noct, hey—we all managed to kill Caligo. You know the guy, right? He’s gone. Gone for good,” he tried soothing, mustering a weak smile that did nothing to pull Noctis from his silent loss.

 

Before the awkward tension could escalate, the loud exchange between Crowe and Nyx resonated through the foyer adjacent to the kitchen, both glaives animatedly speaking about everything that had transpired of late. Noctis pursed his lips, quietly slipping away while his friends were distracted and wanting to avoid explaining why he’d be so avoidant of Nyx. He just didn’t have the energy after learning about his imposed severance from Stella.

 

Retreating to the courtyard unnoticed, it was quiet save for Agni who waved him over. “Hey, princey. Huh—what’s got you so doom and gloom? You don’t look too hot.” Sitting up from her recline, the Solheiman patted a place next to her that Noctis sank on.

 

“It’s Stella. She doesn’t want to see me anymore, and everyone’s back, but—hell, I don’t want to explain why everything’s so weird between Nyx and me.” Though a shorthanded vent, Noctis simply didn’t have the energy to expound upon it at length. After their ordeals, that energy had been robbed from him.

 

“That’s...gotta be tough,” Agni said as she raked a hand through her pixie cut, puffing air through her bangs. “I mean, learning your best friend from childhood is okay, only for her not to want to see you—can’t be easy. But, can you really blame her? I mean, Noct—you killed her older sister. Like it or not, she doesn’t have to forgive you for it. Hell, I’d be surprised if she even entertained the idea, because I sure wouldn’t, accident or not.” Though Agni’s words were harsh blows, he understood. It was better than being smothered in platitudes and euphemisms. Even if his eyes darkened bitterly, Noctis nodded numbly as she continued.

 

“And I hate to say it, but you can’t keep stringing him along like this. I know you went through hell, but so did we. I mean, I have the scars and empty ovaries to prove it. Maybe we didn’t get the mirror-class treatment, but I was locked in SHU same as you, experimented on, put under so many fucking times I feel like Frankenstein’s Monster. And Nyx? Guy was tortured almost daily for information. We all escaped with our sanities barely intact, and Nyx never wanted to dump his emotional baggage on you because of how barely you’ve been hanging on.” She took a long pause, gaze dropping. “He cares for you, Noct. You can’t just keep sleeping with him and pretend like nothing’s there because it’s hell on his heart. We’ve gone through enough, but keeping him in the dark is cruel. There’s really no other way around it.”

 

“I just...I don’t know, Agni. I still don’t. Stella I get, but… Nyx? With everything going on do we have time to be worrying about playing telephone with who likes who? I just… I wish I knew how I felt but right now I’m having a hard knowing whether this is real and when I’ll just wake up again outside of reality,” Noctis said with a languishing sigh, crossing his arms on his knees and trying to ignore Agni’s hard, disbelieving stare.

 

That was, until she stood up and roughly hauled the prince by his collar to glower at the shorter male. Shocked by this, nothing prepared him for what she did next. “He’s sacrificed _EVERYTHING_ for you, you big fucking moron! So have the rest of them, alright? I don’t get you, Noctis! For fuck’s sake, can you maybe snap out of your one-man soap opera for one fucking second and realize that you’re not the only one suffering?! Fucking Six, you spoiled brat, open your _eyes_! They’ve been following _your_ plans for months, hauling ass across the continent out of sheer willingness to follow you, and doing everything in their power to see it carried to fruition and you can’t even grow a pair enough to take them into consideration instead of treating them like fucking pack mules?!”

 

Noctis reeled in shock, though not before those smothered emotions bled out vocally for the first time since their ordeal had begun. “YOU DON’T THINK I DON’T KNOW THIS?!” he roared back, unaware of everyone else filtering through to watch their row in stunned silence. “You think I like having people sacrifice everything for me?! People dying for me when I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing or what move we’re supposed to do next?! I know, Agni, I know! You wouldn’t be the first to feel that way, trust me, and he made it pretty fucking clear when he wanted me dead!” The vice on his shirt was released as Noctis crumpled to his knees, teeth grit and chattering as his eyes became red and stung fiercely through his sudden spouting of tears and broken sobs. “I know I’m being cruel to Nyx, to everyone else! I know, alright?! They’re...doing everything they can for me and I just keep screwing up and getting them hurt! Gods, I know...I wasn’t meant to be king! I’d be better off dead!” Hugging himself until his nails dug crescents into his arms, sobs shook his shoulders as he wept bitterly.

 

Agni said nothing as she felt tears sharply build in her eyes, skirting around Noctis as she shoved her way through the crowd, Crowe parting from them to see what was wrong with the beleaguered woman. The remaining three gingerly strode towards the haggard prince, Nyx the first to genuflect to his level and place a hand on his shoulder that Noctis flinched sharply away from, risen to his feet in his efforts. They all got a generous glimpse of his face, hard with tears’ red streaks and eyes miserably ruddy and puffy, shivering as though from the cold.

 

Nyx said nothing as he gathered Noctis in his arms, the prince hissing weakly, “Leave me alone!” to the glaive who didn’t listen. He didn’t fight the embrace, truthfully, and buried his face into Nyx’s chest as the sobs seemed ceaseless. “Why the hell are you guys still here; you should leave! Just...get your lives back, please, just… Stop doing this for me.”

 

Ignis regarded the frank affection between Nyx and Noctis with a faintly seething jealousy in his eyes that Prompto caught on to, though the blond said nothing and instead made way closer to Noctis. “Noct...your fight is our fight, too, y’know. Getting back Lucis, saving everyone from the Niffs… That’s all of our fight. Not just yours,” Prompto soothed, placing a hand on Noctis’ shoulder while Nyx stroked through his hair.

 

“He is right, you know. Were this merely the cause of self-interest, well… I’m afraid you’d be stuck with us, Noct, for we’ve no intention of leaving your side.” Ignis’ smile was soft and sincere.

 

Nyx said nothing and instead withdrew from the embrace, planting a tender kiss to Noctis’ forehead and sweetly lingering before he padded away, into the palazzo proper to likely see how Agni was holding up. In spite of it, that merest gesture weighed him profoundly, Noctis staring after Nyx with a blush betraying the tender ache in his heart.

 

The trio were interrupted by what sounded to be the stark beating of wings, Noctis wheeling back in alarm as a humanoid shadow with an immense wingspan loomed over them, rustling the foliage as their descent was made. They looked on in awe as a man with spiky burgundy hair descended from the sky, dressed in fine Lucian black and armored whilst a newcomer seemed to emerge simultaneously from from the interior of the home in strange unison. “Nadir,” Noctis breathed, the messenger regarding him enigmatically before another warm voice burst through his reverie.

 

“Sedius!” Weskham proclaimed a moment after, Noctis’ interest piqued as he peered through the wide double French doors as he saw the man in question who was unmistakably once part of Regis’ Inner Council. Sedius was a fairly tall man, though slimmer in the absence of the regalia of a high official, with a complexion like dark loess soil after a rain and rather angular, thin features. Though, his eyes of smoky topaz revealed who he was despite the neatly trimmed beard and afro he’d begun sporting after their escape from Lucis.

 

Hardly anyone was surprised when Weskham giddily swept the fellow Lucian in his arms and kissed him soundly, Noctis faintly remembering that his father had wed the pair in secret over a decade ago. From across the room, Nyx gazed pointedly at Noctis through the men’s reunion, the prince shyly averting his own gaze.

 

“I’m just glad you’re safe, you old coot,” Sedius teased affectionately as Weskham laughed heartily, his hand around his husband’s waist. Noting that Noctis was there, Sedius imparted a soft kiss to Weskham’s cheek before trekking towards the young prince while Nadir stood expectantly at his back, arms folded and a good foot taller than the tallest of them there. “Your Highness, we’ll get a chance to talk later, but Lord Nadir here’s got an awful lot to tell you. It’s good seeing you and your friends better off than when you came. You’re always welcome here, you know that, right? You and Reggy are folks I consider family, always.”

 

After his emotional outburst, Noctis felt too cowed and exhausted to say much. “Thanks, Mr. Armaugh.” Sedius patted his shoulder before going to join the others in the kitchen, silence reigning in the cheerful man’s wake.

 

Turning towards the behemoth, Nadir took a step aside and Noctis’ eyes widened at the sight of Gentiana, only—something felt very different about her. Clad in matronly white lace and wielding the Trident of the Oracle, her hazel eyes seemed as transfixed on Noctis as his were on the woman. Her brows knitted together, striding gingerly towards the prince before a hand reached out and cupped his cheek, nostalgia encumbering her gaze. “...You look so much like him, I almost thought—“ Gentiana sighed, and the air around her wasn’t chilled, but holy. The airs a Fleuret bore.

 

“Is it true, Gentiana? Is Shiva really dead?” he asked first, still haunted by the nightmarish vision of her corpse being devoured by daemons.

 

The woman’s lips pursed, nodding. “Yes. She gave a last bit of magic to preserve my soul, but...she is gone. I’m sorry, Noctis. I know she meant a great deal to you.”

 

When the realization sank in, it was like a blow to the gut. First Luna, now her? The one Astral who had been like a motherly figure after his mother’s death was gone. Stella was still around, but refused to see him and Ravus was a proclaimed enemy. Gentiana was all that remained, now—serving as a resurrected Oracle when the last one had died.

 

Nadir unfurled his wings slightly in a show of impatience, standing before them both as Gentiana silently gestured for Noctis to follow. “We have much to speak of, Your Highness. Please, come with me.”

 

Walking in stride of one another, Gentiana’s heels clicked on the pavement as the duo were led towards the back of the palazzo that fed into Altissian streets, Noctis somewhat alarmed after the First Secretary’s veiled threat against him exposing himself, but he wanted to trust Nadir. It were as though something ancient did, and to disobey Bahamut’s messenger seemed unwise. From the brief intercession of another foyer, in a narrow alley did he lead them towards a nearly abandoned piazza, trees and raised wells interspersed between the plainer homesteads that didn’t face the Grand Canal. Towards a fountain did he lead them, gesturing for them to sit upon a stone bench while Nadir seated himself casually on the splashing fountain’s rim. While it felt too exposed for a supposedly confidential conversation, sometimes out in the open was the best place to be.

 

Something about this felt uncannily ancient. As though the city would succumb to a thousand years past and be exactly as it was, steadfast and unchanging and mystical as the waters the Leviathan reposed in. It caused Noctis’ heart to throb in time with these tides, in time with his ancestor that had long since passed from this world.

 

“Prince Noctis of Lucis,” Nadir addressed, tone officious and commanding, “you have fought without guidance for too long. Facing an enemy you believe to be only an empire when it is so much more.” The messenger took pause, not bothering to mince words. “The Accursed will soon be here in Altissia. As my Lord Bahamut has commanded, you, Chosen one, are tasked with capturing him and then your soul will be temporarily housed in Izunia, your past incarnation. You will sever his ties to the Crystal and then return. Do you understand, Chosen King?”

 

Noctis’ hands clenched into fists, the man feeling as a vitriolic wave burned spitefully over him. “You...let me go through all this, without any help, but now...you suddenly want it? When I’m...just barely here? Where the hell were you before? Why now?” he demanded despite the even keel of his voice, steady in his growing indignation.

 

Nadir regarded Noctis with a hard, flinty stare. “And what did you have in store once you healed, Highness? Did you intend upon remaining here indefinitely? Did you have even an idea of how to regain Lucis after your successive failures? This is why the Lord Bahamut has sought to intervene,” Nadir said with an imperious rise of his chin, leaning forwards.

 

Gentiana placed an understanding hand on Noctis’ shoulder, a silent intercession and sign to be still while she spoke. “Lord Nadir, apologies, but surely you cannot blame the prince’s consternation. He has just been recovering from his experiences, such as with the Lunastellum—“

 

“Enough!” Nadir snarled, baring his fangs at them both. “You have your duties as ordained by the gods, and that is final! I will not tolerate the Lord Bahamut’s directives being sullied! You were given a chance to heal, and you have healed. You will continue on your path, prince, and I will hear no counter!” The messenger continued to seethe, Noctis resentfully meeting his glower with a glare of his own.

 

“What do I have to do to make this work?” he demanded stonily, face deadpanned that Gentiana observed with a distant concern.

 

Nadir snorted, expression becoming more neutral as it behooved his nature. Perhaps his vitriol towards the prince was unwarranted, but his unsettling resemblance to Izunia—the first King of Lucis that history remembered—flared that old resentment. That history would repeat itself and he would be lost to Ardyn’s wiles, as they’d just barely managed to remove him from Ardyn’s exorcism eons ago. Even more so, Nadir thought as his gaze drifted dryly to Gentiana, the Oracle showed a tenderness for Noctis that mirrored her affections towards Izunia. A dangerous sentiment to grip a woman allowed to remain for an endgame purpose.

 

It was she who spoke for him. “My king, there is to be a masque within the fortnight. One those of Niflheim will be in attendance of. Ardyn as well. The window of time shall allow for your further recovery, and then we’ll prepare.”

 

“It won’t work! We tried that before, and he fucking hoodwinked us! What makes you think he’ll fall for the same gimmick twice?! He’s two fucking steps ahead and plays with us! He broke free of those chains, pretended to go along with it, and… Fuck!” Noctis railed as he shot up from his seat, pacing like a caged animal and balling his hands into blanched fists.

 

Gentiana rose after him, placing dainty hands on his bicep Noctis flinched at the sensation of, though he grimly relaxed with a crestfallen expression. He was so tired. Whether it had been after the invasion of Insomnia or the months-long stay in prison as a hostage, he couldn’t say, but… His spirit had been broken. And so much of him would be happy to fall asleep and never wake up again.

 

“Please, have faith, my king,” she pleaded, parting a small, watery smile to him as if begging him not to lose hope. But, his eyes were so dull, having lost so much of their luster since several months ago and it grew worse as the days wore on.

 

“Gentiana… What the hell happened in Niflheim? Why did Ardyn kill Shiva with those daemons?” he asked, both well from earshot of Nadir who impassively watched their exchange. The prince was still deeply disturbed by the vision, of what they saw on the first leg of their escape. And if anyone knew, it would be the woman who was previously was her host.

 

The woman appeared pained, as if it’d happened so very recently. “The Accursed found us, Highness. He...forcefully severed The Glacian from me, and… I do not know what transpired. I had fallen unconscious, but—the screams. In my state I heard screaming. Tortuous, terrible screams. Of him killing her and relishing in it.”

 

“Do you doubt us now, prince? Of the Accursed’s... _obsession_ with you? Of how unhinged he’s become, and how willing he’ll do anything to have you now? Your lull will not last. He no longer sees it necessary to wear the guise of a man and will come for you as a beast,” Nadir observed with a lofty tone that reached them, Noctis taking a quick, quaking shudder to his skin as his blood seemed to curdle coldly in his veins.

 

“So, I have to sever his link to the Crystal before he can use it against us, right? It’s funny. He told me about a nightmare he had, when we had him imprisoned near Cauthess. About how Izunia had been cruel to him,” Noctis recalled with thinning lips, brows furrowing tensely. Whether it was true or not, he didn’t know. All he knew was that Ardyn hadn’t wanted to lie to him. Even if he could’ve, even if it was likely, there seemed to be too much truth even for a story that could’ve easily been manipulated to suit Ardyn’s purposes.

 

“Izunia was never cruel,” Gentiana interjected with a worrisome expression. “My husband was many things, but a villain was not one of them.” Her hazel eyes dropped, she sighing deeply. “I’m certain Ardyn wishes he had been. To make their final encounter hurt less.”

 

Noctis gazed to the side, averting his own from the Oracle’s. “If this is gonna happen, Gentiana, I’m sorry, but—I’m not gonna be kind to him. Ardyn took everything from me. My dad, my home, Stella—it’s all his fault. He put me and my friends through hell and I won’t forgive him for it.”

 

Nadir raised a cautioning hand, then speaking. “Be careful as to what you do, Chosen one. Though what you do will ultimately cleanse the Crystal and deny the Accursed access to its gifts, you will change history and we will remember it.”

 

“...If Ardyn wants to remember someone cruel, fine. He’ll get it. I’ll make him wish he’d never fucked with us.” He looked pointedly at Nadir, then to Gentiana. “I want you to tell me what happened in full, both of you. I need to know before I do this, and you can’t embellish or omit anything. I don’t know if the story Ardyn told was bullshit or not, but you two are the only ones who have a say in all this.”

 

“Let us return to the palazzo then, my king. We shall tell you there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Just a quick little clarification, but I think I should add that Gentiana’s personality will not be 100% exactly like Shiva’s. I personally imagine them being different, hence why she isn’t as cryptic and Shakespearean as Shiva was possessing her. 
> 
> Anyway, the plot’s seriously going to escalate from here, probably into a Moral Event Horizon sorta deal. It’ll definitely be a bumpy ride for Noctis and Ardyn, that much is for sure. But he’ll finally be making a comeback after, what—four chapters? ‘bout damn time, amirite?
> 
> ~Peace, G.


	19. Come Down to the Black Sea

( **Warning(s]** : M, graphic death, major character death, mutilation, torture, physical abuse]

 

* * *

 

They let him sleep in late. It was without contentment, without relish, for once dusk began to settle titian and fiery upon Altissia was a day of inertia laid to rest and their machinations begun. It felt both strange and familiar to be wearing the Ring of the Lucii again, Gentiana as his date—for it was almost too easy to make a Nox Fleuret the elegant counterpart of a Caelum—and donning a suit more modest than the one sported long before. Two weeks had done him well, his addiction nearly cured and his health fairly restored and no longer the haggard ghost of a man he’d been three weeks prior. Prompto and Ignis limbered him up with training, and the slights from before had been forgotten. He and Agni had even returned to a friendlier basis as before.

 

But, it didn’t make him feel light. It didn’t restore the shine in his eyes that had been dwindling since the first day of their flight and fight. Seated in a _felse_ cabin of the gondola like those used in ancient days, glancing in a mirror-smooth window did he see a prince with most of his baby fat gone and features angular and more chiseled, the enraptured wonder or sleepy demeanor fizzled from him like evaporated rain. Muscle mass largely returned from generous meals and hard training had filled him out more than before. Survival had made a hardened man of him.

 

“This won’t be like last time, my king,” Gentiana said in the low light, only the lapping of canal waters against the gondola’s hull the noise that interrupted the quiet. “We cannot do what we did previously. If we do, the Accursed will confront us and it would be a greater disaster than it was before.”

 

“I know,” Noctis agreed, jaw clenching. With his hair largely slicked back and a mask adorning his features, it was difficult to tell who he was at first glance—the mask’s black mesh helping conceal his eyes. Even Gentiana was almost unrecognizable in her lunar motif dress and mask, Noctis due to swan around as her night. “We won’t be alone, either. Everyone’s gonna be there with us.” Agni and Ignis would be going together, as well, having hit it off and becoming friends over the past few weeks.

 

With them, Ignis and Agni, Prompto, Nyx, Crowe, Sedius and Weskham, they’d be better covered, too. Though, much of him knew better than to think Ardyn wouldn’t be anticipating him. The man was not only crafty, but dangerously unhinged. The potential for him to appear and slaughter everyone but him was a real possibility, one that boiled his blood at the thought of. But it was enough to steel him through this mission than other encouragement could. Because sometimes, vengeance was causation enough.

 

When the gondolier had concluded sculling them through the channel, there was a knock and clear indication that it was time to disembark. Both decided that entering as VIP guests would be the worst idea to contemplate, especially since they wouldn’t have the luxury of a prison to contain Ardyn in. It would depend entirely on the Ring and none else, potentially Gentiana’s holy abilities as Oracle but nothing more.

 

Gathering her voluminous skirts, the pair filed out by ducking through the door and standing, the almond-shaped craft swaying slightly from the momentum. Bobbing like a cork, Noctis alighted to shore first while Gentiana took his hand and followed suit. Already a crowd had gathered on a sidewalk that led into the Palazzo Principle, the enormous palace seen from the main causeway that fed into the heart of Altissia and its surrounding bay. With this being an entrance for more of the general, but wealthy public, they’d be able to slip through unseen despite the eminence of their stature.

 

Several in the crowd gossiped at the handsome pair as they strolled towards a lane for faster access, Weskham having provided exclusive invitations earlier as guests of Madam Claustra in spite of the fact she wanted nothing to do with the Lucian prince and his conspiracy. Looping her arm through Noctis’, from the romantic, twilit alleys were they allowed past velvet ropes and granted access to the sumptuously wealthy Baroque interior with its high ceilings and excess of gold leaf embossed amid finely painted frescoes that almost proved a distraction. They proceeded through white marbled corridors, wordless as the masked pair made a headlong flight towards their destined goal.

 

From a colonnade that grandly ringed a large, domed ballroom did a flurry of twirling shirts and richly dressed couples twirl in time to a full orchestra at the ballroom’s fore. Saturated in gold, inset with luxurious upper galleries the obscenely wealthy caroused in, it were as though they’d stepped into a music box or a tale from long ago when the world was smaller and Altissia was its gleaming pearl. “Can you sense him or something?” Noctis asked as they broke apart, he bowing and offering his hand as they swept unto the ballroom floor.

 

Automatically stepping in time with the grand waltz all participants were thoroughly engaged in, she nodded to a larger gallery directly above the orchestra pit. When their revelry brought them to glide across the dance floor, Noctis felt his nerves seem to shock him the moment he looked aloft, seeing none other than Iedolas unmasked—though more finely clad than usual—watching the revelers apathetically while Ardyn stood at his side and swayed his hands as though he were drunkenly conducting the music. Though in that moment he appeared largely amused, he froze the moment his eyes met with Noctis’. It was like the soiree in Insomnia all over again, his visage darkening despite the wolfish grin that spanned. As though he were hungrily devouring the sight of the prince. Noctis pettily rebutted by the hand on Gentiana’s waist becoming tighter, more intimate.

 

Scowling darkly, Ardyn dramatically wheeled from sight, Noctis and Gentiana becoming swallowed up by the crowds again. Whatever happened, it didn’t weigh well on the prince as he felt a wave of dread and nausea overtaking him. All the more reason for Gentiana to lead him aside, doing so discreetly and depositing them among the other wallflowers.

 

“This doesn’t feel right, Gentiana. Something’s wrong. Or, at least, it’s gonna be.” She nodded solemnly, understanding.

 

As if understanding, Noctis flinched when he felt a hand on his shoulder, though relaxed when he saw that it was just Ignis. “We mustn’t be so open, Noct,” the man hissed, flashing his gaze down the hall. “I received intel from Prompto of a state room the Niflheim personnel were designated that we ought find. The sooner we corner Izunia, the better.”

 

“Right. Come on, let’s go before we miss our chance,” Noctis affirmed, heart pounding with anticipation and throbbing perceptibly in his throat.

 

The trio proceeded down the corridor, banking sharply several times, Ignis masterfully picking locks and gaining them entry to what would otherwise be restricted levels. Perspiration beaded on Noctis’ brow, somewhat grateful the mask concealed so much of him. When the last door was open to the gallery Gentiana had originally drawn attention to, they stopped to brace themselves.

 

Almost hauntingly, the door swung open with an obnoxious creak, the hairs on the nape of Noctis’ neck standing on end. How had their entry been so easily navigated? There should’ve been MT’s swarming them, drawing attention and forcing them to fight. The gravity of their situation seemed to only intensify as Noctis froze when he saw Prompto gagged and bound before Iedolas, the man’s throne turned away from the dancing and din of music and conversation below, and towards them. The heel of his penny loafer was pressed hard into Prompto’s rib, the blond glancing at Noctis in panic. He tried mouthing something at them, but it was impossible to tell through the gag.

 

“Prompto!” Noctis shouted in alarm, dashing towards the gunman only to be rebuffed by some unseen barrier that crackled with electricity from contact before settling again. “Prompto—“ His eyes were wide as he threw away his mask, glaring hatefully at the emperor.

 

“So sorry to disrupt your machinations, dear prince. However, you’re just in time. You see, we’ve prepared quite the surprise for you,” the emperor said with a wicked smile, eyes hooded darkly. “Chancellor, enough with the charade. I think we have them exactly where they need to be.”

 

Noctis felt the dread swelter as the airs at his back grew acrimonious and malevolent, barely daring to move until he was seized by the waist with a dagger held to his throat and overwhelmed by a maleficence that had haunted his nightmares for weeks.

 

“Hello, _Noct_ ,” Ardyn rasped headily into his ear, Noctis’ heart racing as he felt as though he were being embraced by hellfire. The embrasure was a vice of possessiveness and malice, the Chancellor greatly relishing in his capture. He chuckled hotly, unsteadily, lust coating his voice thickly. “Come to watch the show we’ve prepared for you?” Noctis blanched when he felt Ardyn’s nose bury into his hair and inhale deeply, lips trailing in places Nyx’s had been over a month before. His mouth became dry when he remembered as to _why_.

 

However, when Prompto was hauled manfully by such a frail looking Iedolas, he felt Ardyn smile against his neck as the blond began to sob brokenly, tufts of hair viciously held by the royal. Nothing could’ve prepared Noctis by what was to come.

 

Procuring a dirk that hadn’t been there before, the emperor callously slashed deeply across the gunman’s throat, wrenching his head back as a strangled scream soon gurgled and choked on blood. It spurted with high pressure at first, Iedolas smiling darkly as the young man bled out and Noctis gaped, a scream trapped in his throat.

 

From behind, Gentiana surged forth with the Trident and gouged in through the barrier, the air popping and crackling as she broke through it, glassy shards of its remains shattering loudly to the marble floor. In the moment of distraction, Noctis scrambled towards Prompto with terror in his eyes and chalky with fear. Wrenching himself from Ardyn’s arms, the Chancellor snarled and lunged towards Noctis only to be parried by Gentiana, the woman fierce with resolve. Summoning his red Armiger, their weapons clashed, Gentiana parrying and blocking blows despite the force he applied to the weapons.

 

“You foul little whore!” Ardyn hissed in an acidic maunder, fangs protruded in his mouth as Iedolas was spirited away by General Glauca himself, the man almost manifesting from thin air by the suddenness of it. Noctis had found way to Prompto, cradling his friend as the blond was rapidly losing blood while Gentiana was held in powerful contention with Ardyn that neither budged much from.

 

“Prompto, it’s okay—we’ll heal you, promise. Just hang on!” Noctis pleaded, uselessly utilizing potions he had on him, they doing nothing to bring back the tremendous blood loss and healing the gash on his neck superficially.

 

“ _No-ct,_ ” Prompto pronounced weakly, a trembling hand coming to caress his best friend’s face, coated with his own blood. It was hot and viscous and stuck like wax to his skin, tears shed as the light was fading fast from Prompto’s eyes. “I’m...so s-sorry, buddy. For e-everything, I—“ He was interrupted by hacked blood that dyed his mouth a ruddy shade, clinging to his gums and teeth.

 

“Prompto, there’s nothing to apologize for, please… You’re gonna make it! Just—hold on!” Noctis cried out, barely aware of Ardyn and Gentiana still exchanging blows behind them.

 

“Thanks for...everything. I-I’ll never regret becoming your friend, and…” He hacked roughly again, a deathly pallor taking to his skin as tears beaded in his eyes and his lungs became drowned with blood. “Y-You’ll make a great king, buddy, I… Noct, just…” His jaw hung slightly ajar as a last breath suffused, hand dropping and head then falling limp to the side, eyelids heavily closing.

 

“I’ll what? Prompto, what were you going to say? ...Prompto? Prompto!” Noctis shouted through his tears, sniffling hard and hugging Prompto close to him and rocking through his sobs.

 

After what felt like an age, Ardyn’s demented cackling cut through his grief. In an abrupt moment, Noctis warped with lightning speed across to where Oracle and Accursed battled in attrition, deftly cutting through an opening and locking swords with Ardyn’s. The older man gleefully laughed at the crimson in his eyes, at the coldness that subdued his grief and Etro’s power stunted that rage with a callous prowess.

 

“Oh, I do apologize! Did your friend pass away, dearest Noct? What a shame, indeed!” Ardyn patronized spitefully as they were locked in brutal attrition, Gentiana praying as she summoned Nadir to them.

 

“You’re going to **pay** for this,” Noctis hissed, baring his teeth and letting the Ring spark like it had before, Ardyn’s expression freezing as the familiar sensation rocked him. The scarlet Armiger clattered to the ground before fading, Ardyn gasping as those familiar convulsions paralyzed him with holy might. He wretched bilge blood as he was grounded to his knees, ink-stained mouth agape haplessly at Noctis, those gold eyes transfixed in their pools of blackness. This time, when the pentagram expanded beneath him, cords of light grappled over his shoulders, binding the Chancellor to the ground.

 

As his Arimger was allowed to dissipate, the regal atmosphere of Nadir evaporated the foul power that bled from Ardyn. Despite the chaos occurring, whatever barriers had been erected allowed the masquerade to continue undisturbed and contained their chaos. Ardyn grinned deliriously at the messenger as he imperiously stood over the man, chuckling richly. “Oh, how long it has been, Lord Nadir! Two eons, was it? Come to watch me be tortured again?” Ardyn inquired rather brightly and craning conversationally towards him, his eccentric humor prevailing even in this.

 

Gentiana presided over them, standing unharmed within the glowing pentagram and nodding towards Noctis whose eyes still were their livid claret. The prince sat parallel to Ardyn, the man appearing confused. No one indulged the Chancellor in small talk, his smile falling. Though not openly expressed, a dark satisfaction bloomed in Noctis at his apparent bemusement at their next gambit.

 

“As we discussed. Are you ready, Gentiana, Highness?” Nadir asked, standing across from Gentiana as the standing pair overlapped their hands on Noctis’ and Ardyn’s heads, respectively.

 

Noctis inhaled steadily at he stared unflinchingly at Ardyn, the man’s brows furrowing in confusion as even his chatty mien faltered to naught. “As I’ll ever be,” he responded without dropping his gaze.

 

“Yes, Lord Nadir,” Gentiana replied, her eyes falling shut in unison with Bahamut’s messenger.

 

“What in heaven’s name have you planned—“ Ardyn was cut off as his body seized up, gasping aloud as he felt his own power to warp time used against him. The atmosphere crackled energetically as even Noctis felt his consciousness drawn from him, hairs standing on end at lightning razed from the center of the pentagram and danced upon the frescoes above their heads, singing where they touched. The lights went out, a preternatural wind picking up and churning a jet stream of a gale that whirled chaotically.

 

And within a moment, everything became dark.

 

* * *

 

“Lord Izunia? Lord Izunia!”

 

_What? **Who** —?_

 

“Oh, Your Majesty! You’re finally awake!”

 

In the bright light of an ancient morn, Noctis squinted again the harsh strain of light. Sitting up groggily, he wiped sleep from his eyes and blinked owlishly and saw someone tie back thick, dark curtains that encompassed the canopy bed he lay within. “Wha…?” he murmured in sleepy vertigo, finding a man in dated robes address with him a faint smile.

 

“Hang on, Petricos. Let me get my bearings, please,” Noctis said, surprised by how much more mature his voice sounded, bearing a distinct accent that was foreign on the ears. Perhaps what befuddled him most was how the name sprung instinctively to his mind, but it wasn’t his knowledge. It was someone else’s.

 

_It was Izunia’s_.

 

Noctis’ heart fluttered anxiously as he rose from the bed and skirted around the confused page, making way towards a large, old-fashioned mirror that stood from ceiling to floor. He balked at the man he saw staring back, an exact replica of himself if he were thirty years old and had neglected to shave away a five o’ clock shadow. His hair was swept from his face and tucked behind his ears, the boyish features from youth chiseled away into a masculine, angular visage that was finely handsome and sharp with an older beauty that could easily fluster the shier were he to encounter them. An attractive countenance that was an older ghost of the present Noctis.

 

It almost caused the prince’s feet to balk, remembering this wasn’t his body. It was just on loan, but even so, he was haunted by the resemblance.

 

It certainly explained Ardyn, Gentiana, and Nadir’s nostalgic familiarity towards the prince.

 

“Petricos,” Noctis addressed, the black-haired man stammering to attention. “I’d like to be changed as quickly as possible. I want to see the prisoner as soon as we’re finished.”

 

“Y-Yes, Your Majesty! Shall I summon your wife, Lords Odin and Gilgamesh to accompany you?”

 

Noctis’ gaze dropped, his lips thinning thoughtfully. “Gentiana has to prepare for the exorcism. But, yes—summon Gilgamesh and Odin.”

 

In the span of only half an hour, Noctis rushed through his bath and being dressed and prepared, feeling too coddled but going along with it. Petricos seemed understanding even if Noctis’ ulterior motive was completely oblivious to it. Clad in trousers, a tunic, and a kaftan girdled by an ornate belt and sporting boots, with the Sword of the Wise sheathed at his side did he depart from his chambers.

 

The Citadel looked nothing like what he knew from childhood. In its ancient splendor, it boasted Solheim and Accordian architecture tastefully mingled together. Outside in the hall, he met with Gilgamesh and Odin, Noctis shocked to see the disguised Astral sporting a visage perfectly identical to Cor Leonis’. Both Shield and Crownsguard bowed to him, Noctis inclining his head in acknowledgment of his entourage.

 

“You bear a great weight upon your person, Lord Izunia,” Gilgamesh commented, the towering man canting his head and scarlet eyes upon the shorter king.

 

“Enough, Gilgamesh. The former Chosen is going to be put on trial. Leave him to his thoughts,” Odin interjected somberly, the grimness on his features hauntingly exact to how Cor carried himself. They walked briskly, strides in tandem of one another.

 

“I don’t need to think. Do you two remember what must be done? Like how we discussed it,” Noctis asked of them, glancing pointedly towards both of the taller men.

 

“Yes, Izunia. However…are you certain you’re up to this? To go so far… I wonder if even Nadir would want this of him,” Odin replied evenly, brows furrowing indecisively.

 

“We shall see, won’t we, Lord Odin?” Gilgamesh interjected, ending their brief conversation prematurely.

 

When they happened upon the entrance to the cell block that Ardyn was being contained alone within, Noctis gestured for the pair to wait for him, knowing he’d have to retreat from Ardyn on his own if it came down to that. Swallowing down his trepidation, both Crownsguard kept their hands hovering over their hilts as they stood watch at the entrance, Noctis imparting a final look of resolve before he descended into the pith.

 

Mounting the stair and carefully descending, the torch Noctis carried barely pierced the miasma even a foot in front of him, unable to breach its miserly, cloudy wall. From below, he heard the listless clangor of shackles as Ardyn became aware of his presence, seeing a hazy silhouette the closer he came to the former Chosen.

 

“Izunia?” Ardyn rasped thickly, blinking as he adjusted to the light. “What on earth are you doing here?” Though in disbelief, Noctis smiled softly, the hatred he felt mingling sickly with love for this man that wasn’t his own.

 

There was no time to anticipate himself as Izunia’s body moved of its own accord, taking Ardyn with a hand behind his head and bringing their faces to press into rusty bars with a passionate kiss, Ardyn clutching on to that forearm and returning the kiss yearningly, a flush coloring sun-kissed skin when they parted to press their foreheads together, Ardyn gazing at Noctis in utter adoration.

 

“Izunia? Please, tell me—what’s going on? The feast was so long ago, but… Why was I sedated and shackled?” Ardyn pleaded with him, Noctis’ heart twisting with remorse at what he was about to do, internal panic rising at emotions that weren’t consciously his but burbling fervently. It were as if his soul were fighting against this.

 

_Were these feelings really only just Izunia’s?_

 

“I’m gonna help you escape, Ardyn. We’re going to break you out of here. I’ll explain when we’re out from here, I promise.” Noctis then found a skeleton key in his pocket, unlocking the door as Ardyn stepped back, clad only in his dress shirt and trousers that were ripped and filthy from days of imprisonment. Extricating him from his shackles, he kissed the corner of Ardyn’s mouth and took his hand, the Accursed following him beguilingly.

 

When they returned upstairs, Gilgamesh and Odin were waiting, hooded while Noctis replicated the look with his own mantle, shushing Ardyn as he draped one similar on the much taller man’s shoulders, taking him by the waist and leading him away that Ardyn never questioned.

 

And to think, this was a greater deception than what Ardyn would orchestrate in the future.

 

“Come hither, my lords. We must proceed down here,” Gilgamesh indicated, gesturing towards a hidden corridor that would take them to the Exorcism pit, a place typically reserved for those who received the Savior’s blessing or were deposed of when their affliction had proceeded too far. Though Ardyn’s expression was questioning, he said nothing as they made their descent, too enraptured by his love saving him to think twice of it. A choice he would soon come to regret.

 

The dark swallowed them, but in it, Ardyn felt free to circle his arm around Izunia’s shoulders, the younger doing the same by his waist again, the older too enamored to care. Gilgamesh and Odin had been aware of Ardyn’s feelings for the former hostage even though Ardyn himself was completely unaware of the usurpation that had taken place in the month he’d been interred in the dungeons. Of Izunia’s wedding to Gentiana, of the Crystal choosing him, his coronation; all had been kept from Ardyn. And it suited Noctis’ plans perfectly.

 

It was why it came with such an enormous shock as the Ring of the Lucii glowed on Noctis’ finger, Ardyn having been completely unaware of it before. Like he’d done so many times in the future, Ardyn collapsed to his knees and gazed with wide-eyed betrayal at Noctis who wore Izunia like a costume, expression deadpanned and apathetic upon the fallen son of Lucis. While he was still grounded, Gilgamesh shackled wrist cuffs on his bony wrists and heard as a chain fed from the ceiling slowly rose and became taut as Ardyn’s hapless form was dragged aloft.

 

The frayed threads of his shirt tore and Ardyn became exposed, the mantle on his shoulders falling off and in a heap at his feet. Muscle tendons strained as he was suspended in air, where a single ray of light cut through the gloom, the trio staring at Ardyn as he was availed. And how mirthlessly the Accursed smiled.

 

“Oh, I should’ve known. Is this what it boiled down to, Izunia? Sweet, _sweet_ Izunia? Did you hate being in my shadow so much you sought to usurp me?” Ardyn accused caustically, simpering sarcastically. “To claim the power of the Crystal that was never yours to take? Oh, how delightful!” The daemons were quick to expose his true nature, after all.

 

Noctis’ teeth grit, Gilgamesh and Odin impassive for the time being. “I was your prisoner, Ardyn. That’s all I was. The hostage from a Solheim house Lucis wanted land from. Do you think I was happy knowing I’d never return home? That I had to be your lackey for as long as I lived? Where’s the justice in that?” he spat acerbically, a steaming anger boiling over that wasn’t Noctis’ but so easy to rein in tandem with his own from the future. But, it was an old anger. One Izunia had forgiven long ago.

 

The Ring glared with holy light as the Trident of the Oracle manifested in his hand, the whole of it emitting veins of light from the ornate grooves that lined it. Ardyn gazed down at Noctis with sad yet condescending eyes, they as skewed as a man possessing someone from the past. His smile was still mirthless with a Cheshire delight that was hollow and false. “I love you, Izunia. This changes nothing, you know,” he said with all sincerity, eyes sinking closed as he succumbed to his fate, inky streams of tears dribbling from his eyes.

 

In the former timeline, it was legion who punished Ardyn. But in this devised punishment that wracked his heart, it was the one most beloved to him who had taken everything.

 

Even the smile couldn’t remain, strained shoulders shaking with sobs as Ardyn’s lips twisted into a mournful grimace, though he refused to utter a single sound. Then and there, Noctis almost stopped. But, the sensation of his best friend dying in his arms filled him with wroth, and he plowed forth.

 

The first gouge caused his body to spasm from pain, but Ardyn was still silent, head bowed and saying nothing. Noctis’ teeth grit as he did it again, eliciting a sickening squelch from Ardyn’s flesh as he gored it through deeper, for everything Ardyn took from him. History had done it for him, but Noctis was now filling the reasons behind it with a hollow and sharp betrayal eons would never cure in the Accursed.

 

“You took _everything_ from me. Dad, my best friend— You tortured me and put me through hell!” Noctis accused with shining eyes, impaling the trident through again that accumulated more and more viscera, blood slopping loudly to the ground. “He’s gone because of you. I don’t have a home because of you!” Now, the future was slipping through, Noctis completely uncaring. Though Gilgamesh and Odin seemed confused, they said nothing, witnessing Ardyn’s torture with statuesque stances as they knew they couldn’t interrupt.

 

Ardyn lifted his head, knowing—it could’ve been true. For it seemed as though what Izunia lost strangely paralleled Noctis’ losses. He simply wasn’t aware of it yet. “Have I now?” Ardyn rasped weakly, body convulsing as the holy energies cauterized his flesh, smoke billowing into his face he coughed on. Noctis kept stabbing, goring—sundering more flesh away as Ardyn’s lower half began to hang by only the spine.

 

“ **YES!** ” he screamed in finality as he gored the trident through one last time, Ardyn’s legs and pelvis falling to the ground in dead weight, muscles spasming for mere moments before straightening, becoming rigid.

 

The trident fell in a clangor as only half of Ardyn’s body hung from the ceiling, blood draining out and pooling around them, Noctis collapsing to his knees. Despite how his eyes shone, the tears had all dried up. Ardyn’s blood stained his trousers, his boots, and his kaftan and he didn’t even care. Odin strode towards him and lifted Noctis up by the bicep, avoiding gazing upon Ardyn; even if he was the Accursed, he’d been in service to him before. Attachments like that simply didn’t fade overnight.

 

“Gilgamesh,” Noctis addressed after a long moment, “find Lord Nadir. Tell him it’s been done.” Gilgamesh bowed from the waist and breezed from the exorcism chamber, Noctis finally having collected himself.

 

He didn’t gaze on Ardyn anymore after that. Even when he heard the Accursed call after him mournfully, begging for him to at least acknowledge him. With a ruined body, he had no energy to shout, and couldn’t think of healing himself. Not when the daemons were new and the holy power stunted his healing factor.

 

“Izunia, look at me—“ Noctis heard him pleading pathetically, even if his heart wrenched to the sound. His eyes closed, and Odin guided him away, Ardyn’s shouts stopping at the base of the stairs and resonating uselessly. He kept walking, not looking back, not even glancing. The chamber’s blessed doors closed behind them, leading on to the houses of healing where he would undergo a rigorous cleansing.

 

For even finished, this was the last time Ardyn would ever see Izunia again.

* * *

 

When he finally returned, Noctis gasped for air and reeled back, struggling to regain his breath after what felt like genuine apnea. Sprawled on his back, his chest heaved and Gentiana and Nadir broke away, Ardyn still doubled over in his bonds. The male messenger provided a crutch for the Oracle, Gentiana weak with exhaustion. She panted and was deposited by Noctis’ side, checking him over and helping him prop himself up again.

 

No one spoke as Ardyn’s body convulsed, his Armiger emerging one by one until it encircled him, his body wracked painfully in its throes. Twine seemed to be attached from him to the weapons. One by one did each glaive sever the attachment, Ardyn tremulous with pain as each severance shocked him. Until, the last one cut its ties and the weapons faded away, the Chancellor groaning miserably as the power that had sustained him for so long departed from him for good. No longer was Etro’s blessing upon him. No glaive would answer him, and he would never be able to warp. Magic was cut, and all that remained were the unfettered daemons that fueled him.

 

Noctis watched impassively until his attentions returned to Prompto’s body, his stoic composure breaking as he reverently shut Prompto’s eyes fully, covering his body with a disheveled tablecloth and brushed his blond locks back into place until it looked as though his best friend were only sleeping. The prince’s lower lip trembled as he stroked through Prompto’s gelled strands, brows furrowing together as he bit back a sob. Prompto was gone. His best friend was really, truly gone.

 

“Are you satisfied, Highness? Have you meted out your vengeance at last?” Ardyn rasped suddenly, all eyes upon him. Gentiana trained the trident upon him, glowering despite her exhaustion. Although, her offense lowered somewhat when they saw how miserable the Accursed now was. When his head lifted, his complexion was then a waxy, ashen pallor worse from the first time they’d seen it. Hair limpid with apparent gray streaks, he looked as though he’d aged years in a moment, the bags under his eyes becoming more pronounced and dark by the offset of his sickly pale skin.

 

Noctis bristled as he stood up, face hard before he sent a swift kick into Ardyn’s abdomen, knocking the man to his back who coughed weakly from the air being knocked from his lungs, smiling ironically in spite of himself. With his boot pressed heavily into his sternum, the older man gasped, “Why, at the rate you’re going, you’ll become crueler than even _I_.” The prince responded with another kick to his jaw, harsh enough that it elicited a crack and likely fracture in his jawbone.

 

“ _Shut up_ ,” Noctis snarled hoarsely. “I said, shut up!” He began to unleash a volley of kicks into Ardyn’s sides, stamping on his ribs and audibly cracking several. When Ardyn attempted to sit up and groan through his pain, Noctis hauled him by the collar and held him inches from his face. “You took everything from me! My home is gone, my best friend is dead; I lost dad, Gladio, Clarus, and… **EVERYONE**! All because of you! How does it feel? How does it _fucking_ feel?!” Throwing his grip away and standing up, he trembled from anger.

 

Gentiana motioned to intervene, even though Nadir wordlessly stopped her, shaking his head.

 

Ardyn blinked, still dazed on his back as the pain was vividly relived. He couldn’t smile, couldn’t jape or mock the prince. How inadvertently that all that had occurred to Izunia was repeated in Noctis, and all because of him? Numbly did a bruised hand come to clutch at his chest, Ardyn staring at the ceiling but letting that emotional turmoil bleakly overtake him. Exactly what was felt when Izunia had walked away for a final time, expressing his hatred and leaving it at that for eons. The only sight that had given him nightmares for millennia. “It’s…rather indescribable, isn’t it?” Ardyn said finally, dry heaving as bile and blood swam up his throat that he swallowed down with a repulsed shudder. “Like having your heart wrenched from your chest—through broken bones and blood.”

 

Noctis glanced down at him, biting his lower lip hard enough to bleed before he stooped down to gather Prompto’s corpse in his arms.

 

“That’s exactly what it feels like,” he murmured roughly before leaving the room with Gentiana in tow.


	20. You Rise, I Fall

( **Warning(s]** : E, sex scene]

 

* * *

 

It was silent and unanimous that Noctis would be allowed to be left alone as they prepared for Prompto’s funeral. Submitted to a mortuary Weskham knew they could trust, it was Noctis and Ignis who selected the clothing he’d don, and from there it would only be a matter of time. Noctis only spoke to confirm the apparel until he was left alone. Prompto was to be cremated. Ashes divided between Noctis and Ignis who would scatter them in different places in Insomnia once they managed to return. Otherwise, an unnerving pall of silence fell upon them in the palazzo as Ignis and Noctis secluded themselves away from everyone else, occupying a lonesome dock occupied by several moored gondolas and small vessels bobbing in the piercingly early hours of the morning.

 

Neither knew how long they’d sat in silence.

 

Lapping waves barely touched his soles as Noctis slouched over the end of the wharf, Ignis sitting next to him as there was just enough room to comfortably seat them both. The prince turned Prompto’s camera in his hands, occasionally sifting through the photos and lingering on one they’d taken at Hammerhead that looked as though a swarm of bees had photobombed it. Though everyone in it was laughing or otherwise grinning, Noctis’ visage remain grim and unchanging. The bags beneath his eyes had grown darker overnight.

 

“He’s...really gone. He’s not coming back,” Noctis said finally, voice rough and low.

 

“No, he’s not,” Ignis murmured back, wordlessly slipping his arm over Noctis’ shoulders and allowing the younger to lean into him, listlessly blinking as the early morning wind ruffled their hair. No wishful idealizations of the beyond embellished their words, each sparingly spoken as though anything more would wind him.

 

After a long moment, Noctis queried, “Y’think he’s happy? ...With Gladio, maybe?” Ignis stiffened at mention of the deceased Shield.

 

Ignis only nodded. “I imagine so.” Turning the camera in his hands, the adviser’s brow puckered when he noticed the flashing red light, Noctis glancing up at him as nimble fingers smartly pried the camera open at that junction, what appeared to be a chip popping from a hidden slot they hadn’t noticed before. “...SFA,” Ignis read, throat suddenly becoming very parched.

 

“...Boys? You might wanna come see this.” Startled by the address of Weskham’s voice, Noctis wasted no time in scrambling to his feet and cantering back towards the palazzo, blood thickening coldly in his veins with each stride. His heart pulsed in his throat and the feeling intensified with each footstep closer to Weskham’s home.

 

Thankfully, as everyone else was still preoccupied with their own business following the masquerade, the silence that was only broken by the presences of Sedius and Weskham who remained nearby, Weskham leaning on a counter over a glossy photograph too lit to see until Noctis neared it.

 

“Do you know what this is, Noct?” Weskham asked with serious gravity, pivoting the photo so Noctis could see it better.

 

“That’s an MT identification bar code,” Noctis identified without skipping a beat. “What about it?”

 

Sedius sighed deeply, regarding the prince sympathetically. “Before Prompto was cremated, when they were still preparing the body, the mortician came across this on his wrist. It wasn’t branded recently, or pasted or inked on— Do you understand where I’m going with this?”

 

“No, I—it’s fake! Prompto _isn’t_ , he **couldn’t** have been—“ Noctis took a step away from the counter, biting his lower lip until it bled. “Prompto wasn’t an MT!”

 

“It’s more complicated than that, Noct. This bar code doesn’t belong to standard MT’s.” When Noctis’ look of flustered confusion didn’t alleviate, he continued. “Verstael, the man behind the MT’s, it’s—it was rumored he had a son. A son he based the MT’s off of. It’s a genetic match.”

 

“You mean...he was a Niff,” Noctis concluded himself, mouth gaping slightly before it clamped shit, then remembering the chip Ignis found. Glancing at the adviser, the brunet availed it in an open palm and proffered it to both Weskham and Sedius.

 

Sedius wordlessly took it, lowering his reading glasses and squinting at the chip, deftly snapping it in two as a faint crackle of electricity fizzled out. “I’ve seen these before. Military grade transistor. Able to discreetly transfer information across great distances at a frequency most radars and radios can’t trace. Boys, while you were with Prompto on the run, did you have a difficult time keeping away from those MT squadrons that are common around the regions?”

 

“Yeah, but—you can’t be serious! Why the hell would Prompto be a traitor? He was my best friend!” Noctis protested brokenly, Gladio’s death replaying vividly in his mind. Of why Gladio had snapped in the first place. He’d known Prompto since he was a kid, had been asked to be befriended by Luna so he wouldn’t be so alone.

 

“Weskham, you wanna tell him or should I?” Sedius asked suddenly, perching himself on a bar stool that was swiveled around towards them, Weskham hovering close to his husband. When the addressed nodded, Sedius leaned in towards Ignis and Noctis. “20 years ago, before Weskham and I got together, we were sent out on a mission to Vogliupe. ‘round where Niflheim had some bases. It was meant to be infiltration, but—well, we didn’t get real far. I mean, how the hell can you when you can hear a fuckin’ baby screaming? Turns out that baby happened to Verstael’s, test-tube kinda deal. So, we smuggled him out because who the hell lets a baby suffer in those kinda conditions? Got him home to Lucis a few days later.”

 

“Hang on a second, you mean…?” Noctis broached, it sinking in.

 

Weskham’s eyes shone, smiling tightly as his throat audibly closed. “Yeah. We brought him up. All this—we had no idea. With the camera, Niffs must’ve known who he was, forced him to—“

 

Noctis seemed to visibly blank as he interrupted and said, “I need to go.” He was still clad in the suit, still awash with the sensation of Prompto’s blood coagulating on his hands. His feet moved on their own despite the belated protest of Ignis, the prince ignoring him as he dashed upstairs to his room.

 

There, an outfit he’d been expecting to wear for quite some time waited him. Comprised of a long, black leather tunic, short cargo pants, combat boots, gloves, and a belt with several pouches, it’d been what he intended to don once they returned to Lucis to overtake the city and reclaim it once more. After a quick shower, his mind seemed to vacantly follow what felt like instinct. No second guessing or trains of thought interrupted this stream of consciousness, knowing where and what had to be done even if he wouldn’t voice it aloud to himself.

 

Perhaps it was fortunate the Acqua Alta had set in, flooding the streets and rendering them desolate for the window of several hours as Noctis slogged through the seawater undeterred, a storm brewing in the sky as thunder roared and lightning ghosted in bright streaks before the early morning dim reigned anew. Like wandering through hazy fog did it take only moments before he made it to the gates of the Palazzo Principle due to the lack of foot traffic, it still in a state of disarmed chaos as Iedolas’ fleeing from the scene had roused considerable commotion and scandal. But, he had no business with the First Secretary nor did he want to encounter anyone but one person.

 

For his motives were much more prosaic.

 

It the dungeons so like Lucian crypts, not truly utilized since ancient times, Nadir was the first to greet him.

 

“Your Highness,” the messenger acknowledged with an inclination of his head, “what brings you here?”

 

“I need to interrogate Ardyn about what happened to Prompto,” Noctis replied without stalling, flashing the Ring of the Lucii on his ring finger. With such a hard and vengeful expression, and grit jaw, there seemed no doubt in Nadir’s mind. As Prompto’s funeral would be forestalled, their time until the invasion into Lucis proper was better spent wisely.

 

Standing aside for the prince, a hydraulic vault door like one seen in a bank whirred to life, enchanted by what assumed to be Gentiana and Nadir’s combined efforts. Provided with a small, gas-lit lamp did Noctis make way through the windowless cell block, the air crackling with oppressive holy energy that made even Noctis feel strained under its oppressiveness.

 

When the door closed with an immense clangor, the mechanism of its locks coiling back into place, the sound lingered pervasively. Inhaling in a slight breath, Noctis raised the lantern anew and strode forth. He padded almost silently on rough concrete, the distance before him only revealing about six feet what was before him.

 

“Come to relive the past, Noctis?”

 

The prince stopped short before Ardyn’s cell, fey golden eyes alight in their pith while the man himself seemed to grin as ever, before he was interrupted by a harsh cough and shudder. “Rather cold in here, eh, Noct? Almost like the Glacian never died,” the man continued conversationally, on his knees within the cell, Noctis noting that his hands were bound behind his back.

 

“Shut up,” Noctis clipped coldly, eyes narrowing.

 

“So, what will it be this time, hm? A coat on the shoulders? A swift kick to the ribs? Maybe both, if we’re going to mix it up this time,” Ardyn continued undeterred, laughing hoarsely as the teeth bared were stained a brackish sable. Then, his eyes brightened cattily. “Oh, I see! You haven’t had your fill with vengeance from Prompto’s death, have you? Well, swing away, dear Noct! Have at it!” He cackled fiendishly, despite Noctis’ face remaining deadpanned.

 

“It still hurts, doesn’t it? What we did to you.” This threw icy water over Ardyn’s delight, the smile coldly evaporating from his features as the light loosed from his eyes. “...I’m not here for that,” Noctis clarified finally, Ardyn quirking a brow at the prince.

 

When Ardyn’s complicit silence continued, so did he. “I need allies, Ardyn. Powerful ones. I can’t take Lucis back on my own.”

 

As the proposition slowly sank in, Ardyn recoiled back in a delirious bout of laughter, back hitting the wall as he seemed to be throttled by the sheer absurdity of the idea. “Me? Help _you_? Has the near year been erased from your mind, Noct, or is this another one of your jokes? What in heaven’s name could I ever acquire from you that Niflheim has exacted on in spades? Why, I am a man of wealth and taste with influence world-wide. What might this beggar prince offer in counter, _hm~?_ ”

 

Lowering the lantern to this ground, Noctis said only one word to Ardyn that was all the currency he needed.

 

“Me.”

 

The moment it was spoken, Ardyn’s pupils dilated within a second and the madman’s delight was smacked from his features. Hungrily did his eyes rake over the prince’s form, tongue laved over his lips before the man snapped himself from the brief reverie with his Cheshire smile alighting to his lips once more, they then dipping into a maudlin frown with brows exaggeratedly raised. “How might we do that, exactly? Drum up an accord writ with gold ink in the finest treaty room of the Palazzo Principle before the denizens of Altissia?” The Accursed chuckled mockingly, as if Noctis were only bluffing—though, it was rather difficult to tell in the musty gloom.

 

Wordlessly, the barred ingress creaked open and Noctis stepped through, closing it soundly behind him. Involuntarily did Ardyn crane towards him, mouth slightly agape as even Noctis could practically hear him panting. “No, not like that,” Noctis dissented in a murmur as he stood before Ardyn, sinking to his knees and straddling the man’s lap that the chancellor seemed to react intensely to once his weight was settled and Noctis began to grind against his cock.

 

Ardyn didn’t even bother to conceal the rich moan that was drawn, he having forgotten how long it had been last since he’d been intimate with someone so bodily, let alone with the object of his obsession. He couldn’t help but smirk smugly as Noctis went for his neck, biting and kissing hotly along the long-neglected flesh that flushed deeply, spitefully wishing Nadir could see them like this. Contemplating this victory—hand delivered to him, no less—caused Ardyn’s cock to throb and strain against his trousers. “Damn these binds,” Ardyn cursed huskily as his biceps strained and hands clenched into fists against bruising wristcuffs, unable to do anything about it. Lolling his head to the side for easier access, he added with a breathy laugh, “Oh, you like this, don’t you? You _saucy_ little minx.~”

 

Perhaps it was inevitable that Noctis would have a penchant for control, of domination after the months had worn away the young man he’d met at Via Caelum nearly a year ago. Ardyn thrust in the air _hard_ when Noctis delved lower on his flesh with those soft, warm lips, much of him glad he’d been so divested and left without his coat or its heavy mantle or even the vest, chuckling roughly when Noctis lifted his face towards him. Eyes aglow, it certainly explained way Noctis was so perfectly composed despite the beginnings of their debauchery. Ardyn’s body rippled as the sight proved to be irresistibly arousing. Eyes hazy with lust and heavily lidded, they briefly flickered to the side as a recessed tier nearby proved to be more comfortable, Ardyn wanting nothing less then to lean back while he luxuriated in this foreplay. Ever the shameless hedonist.

 

Noctis finally smirked when he returned higher to kiss Ardyn deeply, prying his mouth open that the immortal gleefully submitted to. Between kisses he murmured, “I’m going to mark you. I’m going to brand you,” that Ardyn grinned at. “This is how we’ll seal this deal.”

 

“The lengthier this document, the better,” Ardyn purred deeply, humming at this delicious control the prince was exacting upon him. His breathing became ragged when Noctis went for his nipples, abdomen flexing as he strained needily for those attentions, his tongue swirling upon pert nubs. Ardyn groaned raggedly when he felt a cool hand smartly undo his fly and breach past his undergarments, his engorged cock tingling as that same hand stroked along the shaft, caressing his balls and slicking his own member with pre-cum.

 

Ardyn moaned gutturally as he finally slid to the ground on his back, mind mercilessly beleaguered with numbing arousal and pleasure. “Oh, _gods_ —“ the man moaned in a deep and lusty baritone, head thrown back wantonly, gyrating into Noctis’ skilled hand with his feet bracing him and growling savagely before the prince silenced him with a deep kiss, bracing his hand next to Ardyn’s head as the immortal moaned into his mouth at how primal this all was. “Please, Highness,” he rasped headily beneath Noctis and squirmed into his ministrations, gyrating helplessly despite how it wasn’t enough to bring him to orgasm; only keep him mercilessly on the edge. His skin shone with sweat and his expression was positively drunk on pleasure.

 

“What am I to you?” Noctis demanded, then biting sharply on what seemed to be an erogenous zone on Ardyn’s neck. “ _Tell me_.”

 

Ardyn, through labored breaths, strained to grasp a coherent train of thought through the balmy white noise his mind was reduced to. He winced when Noctis bit down particularly hard, knowing that the younger would be leaving him quite bruised afterwords; the sensation diffused and a brief whine sounded from Ardyn as he trembled from the onslaught of pleasure. “My King,” he uttered at last with a sigh, rewarded with the sensual pumping of his cock, belatedly realizing Noctis had been using magic to alter the temperature of his touches. This caused him to shudder in delight.

 

Smiling enigmatically at Ardyn’s admission, he was rewarded with Noctis assuming a position on all fours. When he realized what it meant, though he was frustrated by the blockage of leather from smooth skin, Ardyn lunged forth with a growl and threw the bulk of his weight on Noctis’ back that the prince accepted with a chuckle.

 

With turned tables, Ardyn lost all restraint and thrust viciously between Noctis’ thighs, the younger timing clenches just right; the leather accrued a friction that made up for the lack of bodily contact. Venting the arousal Noctis had mercilessly sustained through foreplay, he clamped his teeth hard on Noctis’ neck, satisfied that the prince shivered at the very least and was rocked hard through his thrusting. For if Noctis would desecrate him with hickeys on every vista of his skin, then he would at least leave a particularly large and vivid one where everyone could see; a proverbial _fuck you_ to Gentiana and Nadir especially.

 

Ardyn’s entire body arched as his orgasm came powerfully with a low moan, splattering thickly upon the floor as it rocked him and brought his muscles to tremble as they clenched, his senses shooting to their zenith as heat pitched before it dropped as fast. The Chancellor collapsed on Noctis’ back, limbs fluid as jelly and heat pouring through every orifice that nearly blinded him. He panted raggedly from exertion, Noctis peeking over his shoulder to glance at the immortal totally spent but in total rapture.

 

The prince gingerly turned around and coaxed Ardyn into his arms, the man sleepily nuzzling into his neck and appearing in utter bliss. Knowing it would be cruel to abruptly leave after something so intense, the prince relaxed against the wall, exhaling tiredly.

 

“That was…rather wonderful,” Ardyn slurred contentedly with drooped eyelids, chortling as he stretched cat-like and curled into Noctis’ side, grinning before lazily kissing where he left his mark that was beginning the bloom splotchy and dark and scandalously, and to his great esteem, practically impossible to conceal with either his hair or collar. Noctis, in turn, caressed away some of Ardyn’s hair where his love bites peppered his neck, chest and even lower.

 

“I’ve still got questions, Ardyn,” Noctis reminded him pointedly, his eyes having since grown dim. “Questions you’re going to answer.”

 

“ _Ah well_ , pity we can’t simply enjoy this moment, hm~?” Ardyn sighed wistfully, craning up to steal a slow kiss from the prince. “Very well. Ask away.”

 

“Prompto’s camera had some sort of...tracking device. You spearheaded the MT program, so how’d it get there?” As he spoke, Noctis massaged thorough circles into Ardyn’s neck and shoulders that the immortal melted heavily into and elicited croons of ecstasy from the man, he nuzzling affectionately as his thanks. Sometimes, you caught more flies with honey than with vinegar.

 

Ardyn purred, lazily cracking open an eye that couldn’t remain fully open for hell. “Mm, well, my dear, you seem to have forgotten that I merely... _filled the holes_ of their understanding of Magitek.” At the double entendre, he winked rather lasciviously that Noctis rolled his eyes to. “Verstael heads it, in truth. Wasn’t the boy his son? Perhaps you ought take the question up with him.”

 

A pregnant pause spanned between them, Noctis absently stroking through Ardyn’s hair. “So. Are you really going to hold up your end of the bargain, or are you going to go turncoat the second I turn my back?” His expression hardened, Ardyn lifting his head up with a sigh and withdrawing from Noctis’ embrace, loathe as he was to move from its warmth.

 

Slouching over, hands still awkwardly cuffed behind his back, Ardyn tucked his legs to his side and gazed outside the cell to the lantern still flickering so beguilingly. His gaze seemed to lose its luster, but, Noctis noticed, the tryst seemed to have returned a healthier color to his complexion. “31 years ago I awoke on Angelgard with no recollection as to how I wound up there. What I did was the life before. The rest...only a blur. I joined Niflheim because I knew much of ancient technologies, and in return, I would gain...perspective. Combine my cunning with Iedolas’ and Verstael’s greed for power and I rose quite quickly, mind you. Truly, my attack upon Lucis was hardly personal, my dear. Not to you, at least. More so to the bastard known as Bahamut and his...contemporaries,” Ardyn concluded with a dour expression, searching Noctis for belief.

 

Noctis’ arm propped on one of his legs, regarding the Chancellor coolly. “What about my incarceration and torture in Niflheim? What’s your excuse for that?”

 

Ardyn grimaced at the mention of that. “I was merely the delivery boy, Noctis. Were I to have my way, you’d have been _willingly_ at my side and ravished daily.”

 

“I’m on the side of Bahamut and the Astrals. They’re against the Starscourge and Niflheim. How does that mean you’ll be loyal to me again?” Noctis raised a brow curtly, voice lilting sarcastically, impatiently narrowing his eyes.

 

“Rather difficult to consider that when you were grinding into my cock, Noctis,” Ardyn sniped bitterly, brows furrowing resentfully when it dawned on him that his second round of incarceration wasn’t over yet.

 

Noctis’ jaw set and he began to make way towards the door with indignation setting his features. However, before he could even think of unlocking it, he was stopped by Ardyn grabbing a fistful of his tunic’s hem—surprised that he’d extricated himself so fast. Turning to see as to why, Ardyn seized him by coiling an arm around his upper thighs with another fistful snatching him by the small of his back. The older partly kneeling, Noctis was suddenly reminded of how tall and muscular Ardyn was before he was dragged down for a fierce, passionate kiss. Without his powers partially activated to buffer his colder, more calculating nature, Noctis loosely draped his arms around Ardyn’s neck and felt a shiver course the length of his spine. As they slowly withdrew, a flush coated his skin that hadn’t been there before.

 

“Noctis,” Ardyn addressed with a thick, affected voice, “I have my ways. I will see this through, I promise you.”

 

Tired of fighting it, the prince relinquished himself to the embrace, burying his face into Ardyn’s neck while the man held him possessively.

 

“You’d fucking better.”

 

* * *

 

The walk back home was one that riddled Noctis with an enormous clout of guilt. Though the tide was beginning to recede and people warily emerged from their homes to the morning markets, the storm clouds had only grown darker and the sea grayer as a mirror to it. Almost to his mind.

 

It was something Gladio had said to him, but death had a strange way of making people horny. After he and Iris’ mother died, Clarus had gotten into a bar brawl and slept with a complete stranger; a woman he forgot by morning. Noctis raised a hand to touch the enormous hickey Ardyn had given him, wincing at how tender it still was. Dropping his gaze into a distorted reflection of himself by a narrow dock, he could’ve sworn he saw his dad, Prompto, Gladio, Clarus...Luna. And so many others he lost. Sweat still clung the leather to his back, making him feel chilled.

 

All at once he felt horrible for having had sex with Ardyn, of the deal he’d made. Playing into the enemy’s hands after proclaiming his hatred just hours before after severing Ardyn from the Crystal’s power, hours after they’d dressed Prompto’s body to be cremated. He felt himself go ashen from the dawning realization of what he’d done, at how he’d betrayed his friends so shortly after their tremendous ordeal.

 

It was just his luck that he’d almost run into Nyx the second he stepped back into the palazzo.

 

Noctis balked a good step back, averting his eyes as Nyx proceeded to attempt a smile despite the moody atmosphere, it faltering into a look of jealousy the moment he spied the hickey peeking out from his strands of hair.

 

“Noct, the hell happened? Don’t tell me you—“

 

“ _Don’t tell me you_ **what** , Nyx? Was with someone aside from you?” Noctis snapped caustically, flashing an angry look towards the glaive.

 

“Gentiana told me you went to the dungeon to see—“

 

Rage flashed across Nyx’s features when it registered as he grabbed a fistful of Noctis’ tunic at the collar and slammed him into a wall, the commotion loud enough to bring Agni and Ignis scrambling into the foyer where the confrontation was taking place.

 

“Nyx, what the hell?!” Agni cried out indignantly, dashing to Nyx and trying to pry Noctis free only to be roughly shoved away. Ignis reacted speedily and summoned his daggers to menace them at the junction of Nyx’s spine and skull, a deadly place to train them.

 

“Unhand him this instant—“ Ignis snarled, all before Nyx crudely cut them off.

 

“Will you guys get your heads out of your asses and listen?! Noctis fucking bounced, Gentiana told me he went to Ardyn to interrogate him, and Noctis comes back with this huge fucking _tramp stamp_ on his neck and you’re telling me to calm down? Put two and two together,” Nyx spat in exasperation, roughly releasing Noctis as he stumbled some before collecting himself, his hickey prevalent to them now. Ignis and Agni appeared scandalized they longer they stared at it, Noctis glancing at them balefully while Agni looked to be the most horror-struck of the three. “You get it now, genius?” Nyx shot pointedly at Ignis who’d long since retracted his weapons.

 

“Yeah, and I got us an invaluable ally, you’re fucking welcome,” Noctis groused for them to hear, teeth gritting angrily. “You’re fucking welcome—“

 

Before he could finish, Noctis was struck soundly upon the cheek, hard enough to send the prince reeling. Raising a hand to his cheek, a look of hurt crossed it at the welt that smarted fiercely. Ignis lowered his hand, balling it into a trembling fist as he shook with rage. Even Nyx seemed shocked.

 

“Ignis, what the fuck?! Is there anyone not souped up on testosterone in this fucking place that might actually hear him out instead of turning this into a fucking cat fight?!” Agni railed, throwing her arms out.

 

“Agni, just shut up,” came Nyx’s exasperated command, casting a look at her that plead for her to leave. Setting her jaw, the witch stormed off in a malcontent cloud.

 

“What she said,” Noctis quipped sarcastically after an awkward pause settled over the three of them, both older men flashing irate gazes on him after Agni left. “What, you wanna beat me black and blue? Go the fuck ahead—see if I care.”

 

“Ardyn is not to be trusted! What on earth possessed you to attempt— _seducing_ him?!” Ignis sputtered indignantly, leaning into Noctis’ personal space with a hard glare.

 

“Nyx fucked me on the train here and I didn’t hear any complaining then, Specs,” Noctis sniped back, seeing Nyx flare up with a visible growl.

 

Of course, while Ignis had suspected something by how intimate Nyx had been with the prince of late, this was news to him. The adviser sighed heavily, struggling to rein in a mad jealousy of his own. “Who you choose to conduct such activities of this nature is of no business of ours, Noct, but it certainly is when that someone is the Chancellor of Niflheim!” Ignis rebuked sternly, surprisingly collected in spite of his hurt that welled beneath. “Especially when that someone likely orchestrated Prompto’s death.”

 

The last lanced him through worse than a slap ever could, feeling his gut twist coldly when the final barb planted itself deeply that he’d only contemplated in a jumbled, frantic rush on the return trip back. That was it: the hallmark of his betrayal against Prompto.

 

Feeling tears spring into his eyes again, Noctis shook his head and skirted around Ignis, completely through. “You know what, fine. I’m fucking done. Do what the First Secretary said: just...get some fake ID’s and get the hell out. I keep screwing up, so I might as well fuck this up on my own, right?”

 

Without waiting for another word from either man, Noctis stalked angrily away, dashing out into Altissian streets with abandon and in complete disregard as to where he’d go.

 

_Anywhere but here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last thoughts: Yay! Ardyn and Noctis finally boinked! Well, sort of. Regardless, this chapter was literally giving you a hickey to cause drama in your family shitpost lmao.
> 
> ~Peace, G.


End file.
